


Courting Danger

by Preach



Series: Tradition [1]
Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Complete, Courtship, Cousin Incest, Drama, First Time, M/M, Romance, Stand Alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-14 14:47:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14138274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Preach/pseuds/Preach
Summary: "N'Jadaka. Cousin," T'Challa said warmly. "I accept your offer of courtship. Thank you for the gift."Erik froze.Courtship.What the fuck?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank rhythmia for taking the time to grammar-check this fic for me. Also, shoutout to mahalshairyballs & leolonderland from the t'cherik discord for discussing an important plot development with me! 
> 
> Thank you <3

_"BANG!"_

The sound of a gunshot rang out _._

Ulysses Klaue slumped to the ground, a hole in the centre of his forehead and a look of puzzled surprise on his face.

The moment that Klaue had appeared at their rendezvous point, Erik Killmonger had shot him in the head.

Panting, shaking with nerves (Erik's hands _never_ shook after a kill, but this one - this one was different), he stared down at the dark red blood pooling around Klaue's shattered skull as hot, vicious satisfaction coiled in his chest.

He had lured Klaue in with a rumour of a mislabeled vibranium artifact located in a museum in London. It's probably even true, Erik supposed, but where he was going, he wouldn't need to bring any vibranium weapons with him. All he needed was Klaue's corpse - his passport into Wakanda.

Erik wrapped Klaue's body up using a tarp as a shroud, grimacing as his fingers brushed against the ugly patchwork of burn scars on Klaue's neck. He swiftly dragged the body back to his vehicle before anyone else could stumble upon the scene of the murder. 

Erik had a long flight ahead of him. 

A long flight home.

* * *

Erik landed his little Cessna aircraft (stolen, of course) at the edges of the Wakandan border.

It was a forced landing, actually - Erik had known that Wakandan technology was more advanced than any other country in the world, but it had still been a shock when the instrument alerts started blaring, showing a catastrophic fuel leak even though Erik was  _sure_ that there was absolutely nothing wrong with his plane.

_EMERGENCY LANDING_ , the instrument readouts said in flashing red letters. Apparently, the Wakandans had developed the technology to remotely disable airplanes - some sort of advanced anti-aircraft system not reliant on missiles. _Keeping the outsiders out_ , Erik thought bitterly.

As Erik exited his plane, he was immediately surrounded by several Wakandan men. Men of the Border Tribe, from what he could recall from his father's notebook. Their leader was a stocky, dark-skinned young man with a cape thrown carelessly over his shoulder.

"Plane trouble?" the man asked Erik in accented English. His tone was friendly, but his eyes were not. "There's an airbase not far from here on the Ugandan side of the border. We can escort you there."

"No," Erik said, standing firm, holding his head high. _"_ Take me to your king," he said. "I have a gift for him."

Erik pulled the tarp back with a dramatic flourish, exposing Klaue's face, with his dead eyes staring glassily into nothingness. He watched with satisfaction as the border guards' eyes widened in surprise.

"I am W'Kabi," their leader said to Erik. Wary, but not hostile. If Erik wasn't wrong, the man even sounded slightly impressed, although he was trying not to show it. "Who are you?"

Erik grinned at him, gold fangs glinting in the sunlight. He pulled down his bottom lip to reveal his War Dog tattoo, the electric blue vibranium runes shining starkly against the skin of his lip. "I'll only speak to your king," Erik said. "Take me to see him now."

W'Kabi turned to his men and they held a hurried, quiet conversation in Xhosa. Erik strained his ears and managed to catch a few words.

" - _how?_ \- "

" - the tattoo - "

" - I don't recognise him - "

" - not one of us -"

Well, no surprises there. Erik had expected hostility. Unfriendliness. His mouth hardened into a thin, bitter line.

" - coronation -"

" - courting gift -"

What? He must not have heard that last one right.

"- brought us my father's _murderer_. That's good enough."

W'Kabi turned to Erik. "Come with me."

* * *

Erik was escorted into the throne room by his own honour guard - W'Kabi and a selected handful of his men. Klaue's corpse, rewrapped in the tarp, was slung over Erik's shoulders.

On the way there, Erik had resisted the border guards' halfhearted attempts to pry further information from him, insisting that he would only speak to T'Challa. For some reason, the guards didn't bother to question Erik very thoroughly. In fact, some of them even directed knowing, amused looks towards Erik. 

How strange.

The moment that he entered the throne room, Erik's attention was immediately drawn to T'Challa. His cousin sat on the curved vibranium throne, back straight, bearing regal, flanked on both sides by two rows of spear-wielding Dora Milaje warriors. He didn't seem surprised to see Erik - Erik supposed that W'Kabi had already called ahead to announce their presence. 

The guards stepped back from Erik, and Erik slung the bundle off his shoulders. It dropped to the ground before him with a loud thump. He yanked the tarp off Ulysses Klaue's body with a flourish, enjoying the gasps from his audience. 

"A gift for the king," Erik announced, smirking.

T'Challa stood up from the throne in a sleek, sinuous motion, movements graceful as a cat as he stalked towards the body for a closer look. He sucked in a breath as he took in Klaue's corpse, lying faceup with his glassy eyes staring into the void. T'Challa stared at Klaue's corpse, eyes wide with shock, while Erik took his time to stare at T'Challa. 

The photos in the newspapers didn't do T'Challa justice, Erik thought to himself. They didn't manage to capture his cousin's long, curling lashes and his soft brown eyes, now wide and vulnerable with surprise. Erik's eyes followed the motion of T'Challa's plush lips as they parted in a small "o", and a part of Erik wondered what would it feel like to brush his fingers over those lips, even as his mind scrambled to hold on to his original plan.

Fuck. Who knew that his cousin would have such pretty eyes?

T'Challa turned away from the corpse to face Erik, lifting his head to meet Erik's gaze. Their eyes connected and Erik's heart skipped a beat, as if electrified.

Fuck, T'Challa really had  _very_ pretty eyes. Soft and warm and a deep honeyed brown, with long dark lashes.

"Thank you," T'Challa said. The sound of T'Challa's voice, rich and appreciative, did  _things_ to Erik. "You are...?"

This is it. The moment that Erik had been waiting for his whole life.

"Ndingu Yaba N'Jadaka, unyanaka N'Jobu!" _I am N'Jadaka, son of N'Jobu!_

An excited babble broke out among the watchers in the throne room, but Erik only had eyes for T'Challa. He watched closely for T'Challa's reaction.

A flurry of emotions crossed T'Challa's face. Shock. Recognition. But to Erik's surprise - no hostility. No anger.

"You are Uncle N'Jobu's son?"

In response, Erik unlaced his father's ring from his neck. The glinting black band, threaded through with waves of silver vibranium, dangled from Erik's fingers, spinning slowly, lazily at the end of its chain. He dropped the ring onto T'Challa's outstretched hand, into the centre of his palm. 

T'Challa's picked the ring up delicately between his thumb and his index finger, letting the chain slip through his hand. It was a perfect match for the ring that T'Challa was already wearing on his finger.

As T'Challa stared at Erik's ring with a look of surprised pleasure on his open, expressive face, a slow, dawning realisation came upon Erik -

_T'Challa didn't know._

T'Chaka, N'Jobu, the murder in Oakland, even Erik himself - T'Challa had no idea about any of it. 

Shit.

Erik had planned for many contingencies. To be dismissed, or insulted, or threatened, or even outright attacked by T'Challa, desperate to hide the truth. In each of these scenarios, Erik would have declared his lineage to the council and challenged T'Challa for the throne and the mantle of Black Panther.

What he hadn't expected was to be warmly greeted by his clearly ignorant cousin. For T'Challa to gaze at him with welcome and - there was no other word for it - _adoration_ in his eyes. 

And what he _definitely_ hadn't expected were the next few words out of T'Challa's mouth:

"N'Jadaka. Cousin," T'Challa said warmly. "I accept your offer of courtship. Thank you for the gift."

Erik froze.

Courtship.

What the fuck? 

Erik's mind scrambled to make sense of the situation. What had he unknowingly walked himself into?

The snatches of conversation he had overheard between the border guards (" _courting gift"_ ). Their glances, knowing smirks and semi-friendly demeanours after discovering that Erik had brought Klaue's corpse and wanted to seek an audience with the king, even though they had been unfriendly and downright hostile just moments ago. The way T'Challa had reacted after Erik had said he had " _a gift for the king_ " - there had been nothing but warmth and curiosity. Hell, T'Challa had seemed bashful, even.

Shit.

Erik had really, _really_ fucked this one up.

Erik immediately opened his mouth to deny the offer, to challenge T'Challa for the throne instead, but...an idea suddenly struck him. The beginnings of a new strategy began to crystallize in his mind. 

Erik had always only wanted two things.

_Vengeance -_ for his father's murder, on T'Chaka, and the ones who had helped T'Chaka to cover up the truth. To deny Erik his birthright.

_Power -_ control over Wakanda, to get the tools to liberate his people. To prevent anyone else from having to suffer helplessly, without even the weapons to defend themselves.

Vengeance on T'Challa was out. Erik was ruthless, but he wasn't heartless. There would be no satisfaction in killing his adoring, innocent cousin, if T'Challa truly did not know anything about his father's murder. It wouldn't be true vengeance.

But power...oh.

It would be even easier to seize power than Erik had imagined. He wouldn't have to risk being maimed or killed in ritual combat. There was another road to the throne - through T'Challa. And T'Challa was practically throwing himself at Erik. 

_When one window closes, another opens._

_Offer of courtship_ , T'Challa had said. Not " _marriage proposal"_  (thank god). Courtship was likely to be a drawn-out process. Erik could take his time to work on T'Challa. Manipulate him, get T'Challa wrapped so thoroughly around his fingers that he would agree to anything Erik asked.

It wouldn't even be difficult. T'Challa was newly crowned. Still so naive and trusting. And he was pretty, even. Courting him would be _fun_. 

"Yeah," Erik said, the corners of his lips turning up into a smirk. "Glad you like my courting gift, _my King._ " 


	2. Chapter 2

"Erik N'Jadaka Stevens," Shuri read off her screen. She had hacked into the CIA's database. "American. Born to a Lisa Stevens in Oakland, California - no father is listed on his birth certificate. Graduated from the United States Naval Academy in Annapolis at age nineteen, then went to MIT for grad school. All straight A's. Joined the SEALs and did three tours in Afghanistan and Iraq. Selected for a Joint Special Operations Command - JSOC - special unit. Nickname: Killmonger." At that, Shuri wrinkled her nose a little.

"So he's a strong warrior," T'Challa said, sighing a little. "And intelligent, too. So capable."

W'Kabi, leaning against the wall, snorted with laughter. "T'Challa, you've fallen hard. You're smitten."

"The tall, dark and handsome stranger is Brother's type," Shuri teased, nudging T'Challa playfully. 

"He seems dangerous," Okoye warned darkly. "I don't trust him."

"Why didn't Baba tell us about him?" Shuri wondered.

"Maybe he's Prince N'Jobu's illegitimate son," Nakia speculated. "Born out of wedlock. He has his mother's surname too - that's unusual for Americans. Anyway, King T'Chaka clearly was not aware of him."

Of course, legitimacy made no difference in Wakanda - royal blood was royal blood, regardless of the marital status of the child's parents. But they all knew that things were different in the outside world.

"You should ask N'Jadaka," W'Kabi suggested.

"I can't just ask him whether he's a bastard!" T'Challa exclaimed. "That seems offensive. I am sure that he will tell me eventually, in his own time."

"Ahh, during the Trial of Heart, right?" Shuri grinned. "The naked one."

"I don't - that's not -" T'Challa spluttered.

"When does the first Trial begin?" Nakia asked, coming to T'Challa's rescue.

"This evening at sundown," T'Challa said. "I was just informed by Zuri and the council. They're putting the arrangements in place now."

"So soon?" Shuri asked worriedly. "You just fought M'Baku yesterday!"

"I will be fine, Shuri," T'Challa reassured her. "My injuries from the ritual combat have already healed, thanks to you."

"Be careful, Brother," Shuri said, brow knitted with concern. "I don't want to have to patch you up again." 

"I do not think that N'Jadaka will hurt me much," T'Challa said.

"You don't know anything at all about him," Okoye said darkly. "Legally, he's allowed to kill you during the Trials."

"He's allowed to  _try_ to kill me," T'Challa corrected. "If he can. Let him try."

* * *

Deep in thought, T'Challa went to find N'Jadaka after his conversation with his friends.

N'Jadaka had been given a room in the royal family's quarters of the palace, just down the hall from T'Challa's own room. If N'Jadaka had grown up in Wakanda, that's where he would have slept, T'Challa reflected. Right next to T'Challa himself. 

T'Challa knocked once on the door, wondering if N'Jadaka was already awake. 

"Come in," N'Jadaka called.

T'Challa entered the room.

N'Jadaka was lounging topless on the bed, limbs sprawled out carelessly across the silk sheets. He grinned up at T'Challa, capped gold canines glinting in the sunlight. N'Jadaka's body was only half-covered by the blanket, and T'Challa could see dozens of little raised scars, deliberately placed, lining his torso and arms. T'Challa's eyes traced the scars down N'Jadaka's torso, wondering at their significance, and N'Jadaka's smile widened into a smirk as he caught T'Challa staring at him.

"Good morning, N'Jadaka," T'Challa said quickly, feeling his face heat up.

"Call me Erik, please," Erik said lightly. This time, his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. 

"Erik," T'Challa repeated. So there was a history there, hidden behind his choice of names. T'Challa wondered what it would have been like to grow up in the outside world, cut off from Wakanda, knowing about its marvels but having no way to access it. It must have been very difficult - no wonder Erik was sensitive about his Wakandan name. "And you can call me T'Challa."

"T'Challa," Erik acknowledged. Erik straightened up from where he had been lounging against the pillows, throwing the blanket off his lower body and swinging his legs off the bed.

T'Challa's eyes widened as he realised that his cousin was fully naked. He tried not to ogle Erik, he really did, but his eyes couldn't help but follow Erik as Erik, back towards T'Challa, walked over to the wardrobe. T'Challa's eyes traced down the curve of Erik's ass, appreciating the way Erik's powerful thigh muscles bunched and rippled as he walked. T'Challa gulped.

Erik threw open the doors of the wardrobe, frowning as he realised that the wardrobe was completely empty.

"Damn, I didn't pack anything," Erik said, "Can I borrow your clothes? We're about the same height."

"All right," T'Challa said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, even though the idea of Erik _wearing his clothes_  sent a secret little thrill down his spine. "My room is down the hall."

Okoye, guarding the door, raised an eyebrow at T'Challa behind Erik's back as Erik, totally unselfconscious, swaggered out of his room fully nude. _He's trying to seduce you and you're clearly falling for it,_ Okoye's expression said.

Erik walked towards the King's room with T'Challa following closely behind. T'Challa, his face hot, shut the door pointedly behind them with a little more force than necessary.

"Wardrobe on your right," T'Challa told Erik.

Erik ruffled through T'Challa's clothes, ignoring T'Challa's slim-fitted, tailored ceremonial robes and going straight for his casual wear. He selected a pair of boxers, black pants and one of T'Challa's long, knitted grey sleeping robes. T'Challa averted his eyes as Erik dressed, but he couldn't help staring at the end result.

Although Erik and T'Challa were about the same height, Erik was bulkier and more solidly built than T'Challa. The pants, which were well-fitting on T'Challa, were now almost obscenely tight on Erik. Erik also hadn't bothered to put on a shirt, and the grey robe hung loosely on his shoulders, falling open to expose his bare chest and his necklace with the royal ring threaded through it.

"Ah...have you finished dressing?" T'Challa asked weakly. 

"Yeah," Erik said, a teasing glint in his eye. "What, you don't like it?"

T'Challa immediately felt put on the spot - he _knew_ that Erik was fishing for a compliment. That Erik was deliberately dressing provocatively to get a rise out of T'Challa. But damn, it was working. 

"I know what you're trying to do," T'Challa warned Erik instead, refusing to answer Erik's question.

"What? I'm not trying anything," Erik protested as his eyes widened in mock offense, but his faux-innocent look was spoiled by the knowing smirk on Erik's face and the way he cocked his hip forward slightly towards T'Challa, as if striking a pose. At that, T'Challa couldn't help but laugh.

"Come with me," T'Challa said, eyes twinkling. "I'll show you around the palace."

"Sure," Erik said. "Where's the library?"

* * *

Erik followed T'Challa through the palace halls as they made their way towards the library, walking in step besides T'Challa as T'Challa kept up a steady stream of chatter about the different rooms and their various functions. 

It was clear that T'Challa loved his home. His eyes lit up as he talked animatedly about the palace, face softening with nostalgia as he brought up anecdotes from the past. The thought that if things had been different, all of this could have been Erik's, too, only made Erik feel just a _little_ bitter this time. It was hard to feel too much animosity towards T'Challa for having everything that Erik didn't when, with each word out of T'Challa's mouth, each action taken, T'Challa made it clear that he would have been willing to share everything with Erik, if only he had known.

T'Challa was very captivating, Erik admitted to himself. All bright-eyed and friendly. The soft glances he directed towards Erik when he thought that Erik wasn't watching him. And the way that he had gotten all flustered when Erik had rolled out of bed (sleeping naked had been a calculated move, one that had paid off)...fuck, seducing T'Challa was almost _too_ easy.

Erik mentally shook himself. It wouldn't do to get too attached to T'Challa. Erik was here on a mission, and he wasn't going to get his head turned by a pair of pretty eyes.

* * *

They reached the library.

Erik entered first, trying not to look too impressed at the towering shelves lined with books, reaching towards the arching ceiling. He walked briskly around the shelves, scanning the catalogue, searching for - ah. There.

Erik grabbed the book on  _Social Customs_ off the shelves, leafing through its pages.

It was all in Wakandan. Damn. Erik's spoken Xhosa was pretty good, but his written Wakandan was another matter - he was barely fluent. There just weren't many resources available to learn the written language,  and he could only learn so much from his father's notebook.  

Erik frowned down at the chapter on courting rituals, trying to decipher as much as he could.  _Amandla...ntliziyo..._

"Erik?" T'Challa asked tentatively, from behind Erik's shoulder. "Ah...how much do you really know about the courtship trials?"

Erik grinned ruefully. Caught. With Erik's choice of reading material, it didn't take all that much perception to guess that Erik wasn't very familiar with Wakandan traditions, but at least this proved that T'Challa wasn't a complete idiot.

"Only the basics," Erik lied, shutting the book with a  snap and leaning against one of the shelves. "You gonna tell me?"

"The courtship rituals start with a courting gift from the contender to the king,"  T'Challa explained. "The contender would bring the king his greatest desire on coronation day. Traditionally, this would be the body of the king's sworn enemy, or some other sort of gift that the contender had gone to great pains to procure."

"Yeah, I know this part," Erik lied. "So what's next?"

"Then the Trials begin," T'Challa said. "The Trials test the King's and the contender's compatibility with each other. There are three trials - the Trial of Strength -  _Amandla_ , the Trial of Heart -  _Ntliziyo_ and the Trial of Spirit -  _Umoya_. We will go through the Trials together.

"The Trial of Strength is a ritual combat between the King and the contender. It is a fight to the death, or until one of the combatants yields."

So it seemed like Erik would get to fight T'Challa after all. Good. A part of Erik - the hidden part that had pushed him forward for the past thirty years, as he trained and fought and killed for the sole purpose of killing T'Challa one day - was viciously glad about it, despite his newfound goodwill towards his cousin. 

"And what happens if you die?" Erik asked. _If I kill you_ , he thought but did not say. 

T'Challa's face was perfectly calm and placid, showing no signs of worry. "You can try to kill me, if you can," he said. "Then you would become the king, of course.

"Traditionally, the ritual combat on challenge day is only open to those of royal blood, but any Wakandan can take part in the courtship rituals as long as they can procure a courting gift. The Trial of Strength ensures that anyone can potentially become the king."

"You do know that this is a crazy way to select a king, right?" Erik said.

"It is what it is," T'Challa said calmly. "We are a warrior culture. We respect strength."

The Trial of Strength was surprisingly close to his original plan, Erik thought. A shortcut to the throne  - a perfectly legal way to kill T'Challa and take over Wakanda - without going through the deranged obstacle course of the rest of the Trials. But...

"So what comes after?" Erik asked. "What's the Trial of Heart?"

T'Challa turned his head away slightly, avoiding Erik's gaze. "We will speak to each other in private for one night."

"That's it?" Erik asked in disbelief. "What kind of trial is that?"

"...We will undress, and speak to each other in private for one night," T'Challa admitted, looking flustered.

" _Speak_ , huh?" Erik said, smirking. He moved closer to T'Challa, into his personal space. Daringly, Erik reached out a hand to cup T'Challa's face, turning T'Challa's head to face him. T'Challa's cheek was very warm under Erik's hand.

T'Challa lightly batted Erik's hand away, but he didn't look angry. "Yes, _speak,_ only, _"_ T'Challa said. "This is - this is not about sex, it's about compatibility. We will bare our bodies and hearts to each other."

"I'm looking forward to that one," Erik purred. "And the last Trial?"

"The Trial of Spirit," T'Challa said. "We will both take the heart-shaped herb and visit the ancestral plane. Our ancestors will decide whether to bless our union. You will also need to take the antidote, after," T'Challa said apologetically. "The heart-shaped herb also grants its users the powers of the Black Panther - enhanced strength and reflexes - and there can only be one Black Panther in Wakanda."

Erik frowned. The Trial of Spirit seemed like a bunch of bullshit to him. He didn't believe in ghosts. But the final Trial seemed easy enough to pass - take the herb, close his eyes for a bit, then tell T'Challa that all his ancestors want them to get hitched. After that, he could fake taking the antidote, keeping the Black Panther powers for himself. Then...

He was so _close_. Erik could almost taste his victory already. 

"If we succeed in all the Trials, the final step would be for me to present you with my courting gift," T'Challa continued.

"Gift?" Erik asked, eyes narrowed.

"Your greatest desire," T'Challa said softly. "Anything you want that is in my power to give you."

_Jackpot._

Wakanda's vibranium. Its weapons. Its secrets.

They would all be his.

Erik tried very hard not to grin too widely. 

"Great," he said instead, lightly, hoping that he didn't sound too gleeful. "So when do we start?"

"The Trial of Strength begins today at sundown," T'Challa said.

Sundown? So soon?

Well, the sooner the better.

Erik couldn't  _wait_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Here's how the courting ritual goes:
> 
> 1\. Courting gift from the suitor to the king. The King's greatest desire (bringing the king his sworn enemy's corpse counts).
> 
> 2\. Trial of Strength 
> 
> 3\. Trial of Heart 
> 
> 4\. Trial of Spirit 
> 
> 5\. Courting gift from the King to the suitor. The suitor's greatest desire.
> 
> I'm not looking forward to the Trial of Strength chapter...I suck at writing action BUT I also love it when my otps fight each other to the death lmao.
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

Sundown, over the Warrior Falls.

The golden-orange rays of the setting sun bathed the landscape in glowing flame. The reflections of the fading sunlight off the surface of the shallow water threw little golden ripples of light on the surrounding rocky cliffs. 

_The sunsets in Wakanda are the most beautiful in the world_ , Erik remembered his father saying. His face had softened in wistfulness then, in a way that he usually tried not to show in front of Erik. To save Erik the pain of longing after a place he would never be able to see? Even as a child, Erik had been able to pick up on that.

More than anything else, it was his father's feigned stoicism in light of his obvious longing for his homeland that had convinced Erik that Wakanda was a real place after all, and not just a pretty fairytale that his father had made up. 

And Erik was here, now. Here, in Wakanda, to fight T'Challa to the death. 

Erik shivered. 

The drums, the music, the chanting, all made his blood sing with emotion. Fear. Bloodlust. Anger, buried deep - temporarily smoothed down by T'Challa's warm friendliness but still lurking beneath Erik, in his blood. For all of T'Challa's kindnesses, Erik didn't let himself forget that T'Challa was not innocent. T'Challa, like all the other Wakandans, was still complicit in the suffering of his people.

The incessant drumming, reverbating in rhythm with his heartbeat, was driving Erik crazy with anticipation. He wanted to fight T'Challa _now_. To fuck him. Wreck him, take him apart. Watch tears rise in T'Challa's pretty eyes as he begged Erik for mercy. Release.

There was a dramatic speech that Erik had planned for this moment.  _I fought. I trained. I killed. I killed in America. Afghanistan and Iraq. I took life from my own brothers and sisters right here on this continent! All this death, just so that I could kill you!_

But that speech didn't seem to fit, now.

Instead, Erik didn't say anything. He met T'Challa's eyes across the stretch of the Falls. Raised his chin up, almost as if in salute, and T'Challa, holding his gaze, nodded back at Erik in acknowledgment.

T'Challa stepped forward towards the shaman standing near the edge of the Falls, a purple-robed man with face paint. The shaman intoned, " _The king will now have the power of the Black Panther stripped away_ ," as he poured some sort of potion down T'Challa's throat.

Erik barely glanced at them. A curious ritual, but it didn't concern him. He centered himself. Let go of all emotion, as best as he could - all his anger, his bloodlust, his fear. Dangerous emotions that would cloud his mind and dull his reflexes, create weaknesses that he couldn't afford. Now was the time to focus on the battle. He allowed the _Killmonger_ within him rise to the surface - the cold, driven murderer.

Erik watched with detachment as T'Challa trembled on his knees, the powers of the Black Panther leaving his body. As he rose, Erik observed that T'Challa was moving a little less gracefully than before. Just a little less sure of himself, when before he had been all sleek lines and panther grace. 

Good. Erik would have an advantage, there.

T'Challa stood up, shield and knife held tightly in both hands.

Erik moved forward, too. No shield for him. A good offense was the best defense. He picked up two vibranium knives from the ground, twirling them once in his hands to get a feel of their weight. The knives rested solidly in his hands. 

"Let the Trial of Strength begin!" the shaman announced. 

Erik charged, spinning around, going straight for the attack. 

His knives met the solid surface of T'Challa's shield with a loud _thunk_. The impact reverberated up Erik's wrists and forearms as T'Challa tried to shove Erik back with the shield, but only managed to push him slightly.

_T'Challa isn't as strong as I am_ , Erik thought. _He doesn't have a good measure of his unenhanced strength_.

Erik changed tack now, moving as a whirlwind of deadly flashing blades, to test T'Challa's speed and reflexes. T'Challa managed to block all the blows, but he was definitely scrambling to do so, and his shield was starting to splinter.

So they were almost evenly matched in speed, then. 

Erik slowed down, focusing on blocking T'Challa's attacks and putting more force behind each of his own slashes. T'Challa was a very defensive fighter (the opposite of Erik), but no one could block _every_ blow. Step by step, he drove T'Challa backwards towards the edge of the falls, patiently waiting for an opening. The semicircle of Dora Milaje guards closed in behind Erik and T'Challa, spears pointing in towards them, leaving no room for retreat.

Ah - _there_.

Erik slashed once, hard, cutting a deep gash on T'Challa's inner thigh and drawing a gasp of pain. Dark red blood welled at the wound as T'Challa stumbled.  

_First blood_. 

Erik attacked at once, pressing his advantage, raining blows down on T'Challa. T'Challa's shield was almost in splinters from the ferocity of Erik's strikes. Several slashes hit their mark, and T'Challa was soon bleeding from multiple wounds, drawing gasps of shock from the audience.

Erik had the upper hand now, even though T'Challa managed to slice him once on the cheek. Erik ignored the pain as blood trickled down from the open wound.

At the next opening, Erik seized the chance to slam his body against T'Challa. With a twist of his body, he bore down on T'Challa, shoving T'Challa's head under the water with a hand fisted tightly in T'Challa's curls, tugging painfully at his scalp.

T'Challa choked as he struggled to breathe, but Erik didn't let up. He pressed his entire body weight down hard on T'Challa as T'Challa writhed under him, trying and failing to buck Erik off as Erik ground the side of his face into the rocky riverbed. The king's blood and the dying sunlight stained the water red.

Erik thrust his knife into the water, bringing the cold vibranium blade towards T'Challa's jugular. T'Challa froze.

Distantly, Erik could hear twin screams of horror from the queen mother and the little princess. His auntie and his baby cousin.

He could kill T'Challa right now. Drown him. Slit his throat. Break his neck. Throw him off the cliff.

Take the throne now, and implement his plan immediately? 

Or...

_Lose the battle. Win the war._

Erik loosened his grip on T'Challa's head, standing up. T'Challa also rose a beat later, gasping for breath and stumbling slightly due to his injured leg as he turned to face Erik.

In the scuffle, T'Challa had lost his grip on his knife. Unarmed, panting weakly and bleeding from multiple deep cuts, T'Challa raised his fists defensively, glaring at Erik with battle-fire in his eyes.

Erik, only superficially wounded, was barely even breathing hard.

Chin up, holding T'Challa's gaze, Erik deliberately released his grip on his knife, allowing it to fall into the water with a splash.

T'Challa's eyes widened in shock.

"I yield," Erik said.

* * *

T'Challa hadn't said a single word to Erik since the Trial.

They were sitting side by side in Shuri's lab. It's all sleek lines and white curves, with holographic display readings projected onto the far walls. It's the most high-tech lab that Erik's ever been in and that was saying something, seeing that Erik had been in the research headquarters of the CIA's Black Ops.

Wakandan technology. Amazing.

Soon, it would all be his.

The little princess approached Erik, holding a flashing metal tube. Some sort of high-tech healing device?

Erik shook his head at her. "Nah, go see to your brother first. I'm barely hurt."

Shuri nodded once, gratefully, at Erik, and turned to work on T'Challa's wounds, running the tube over his injuries. A soft blue light emanated from the end of the device, and Erik watched with interest as T'Challa's skin knitted itself closed under the focused beam of light.

An awkward silence stretched between them. Erik lounged back in his seat, waiting for T'Challa to break it first.

T'Challa finally spoke. "You threw the fight," he said, a simple declaration of fact. He didn't look angry. Just...contemplative.

Erik shrugged. "Ain't here for your throne, cuz," he said, a half-truth. The throne was no longer his only goal. "Didn't come all this way just to kill you. Or I would've arrived on Challenge Day instead. Ain't this a test of compatibility? How can we be compatible if you're dead?"

T'Challa finally turned his head to look at Erik directly, a soft, tentative smile breaking across his face. Erik felt something tender in his heart clench.

"Oh _Bast_ , get a room, you two," Shuri complained, but she was laughing. "Don't flirt in front of me!"

"Shuri," T'Challa said, closing his hand over hers, "Can you give us a moment alone, please?"

"Fuck yeah, I'm getting out of here. Can't stand your hormones any longer," Shuri said, pretending to shudder. She handed the healing device to T'Challa and left the room, calling back over her shoulder, "And don't you dare defile my lab! I'll make you regret it!"

Erik laughed. "Your sister's cute," he said to T'Challa. "If I'd known I had such cute cousins, I might have come to Wakanda sooner."

"Why didn't you?" T'Challa asked, innocently curious. 

A shadow fell over Erik. _I wouldn't have made it past the border. Your father would have killed me. Assassinated me, like he did his own brother. I had to wait for a regime change._

"Long story," Erik said breezily, instead. "I had some other stuff to do. Like, work, y'know?"

"You didn't come back to Wakanda because you were too busy at  _work_?" 

Erik laughed at the incredulous look on T'Challa's face. "It's a long story. I might even tell you one day," he lied.

T'Challa seemed to know that he wouldn't be getting anything else out of Erik on this subject. He didn't press any further. Instead, he approached Erik with the healing device, turning the beam against the gash on Erik's face. Erik shivered at the unfamiliar feeling of accelerated healing as the torn skin knitted itself together.

"That better not scar," Erik warned. "You better not have scratched my pretty face."

" _You_ ground my face into the rocks," T'Challa pointed out.

"Sorry, baby, I'mma kiss it better for you," Erik purred, reaching out a hand to caress T'Challa's cheek. "And down there, too." He trailed the fingers of his other hand over T'Challa's inner thigh, where his knife had first drawn T'Challa's blood. Erik could _feel_ the blood rushing immediately to T'Challa's face, cupped in his hand, as T'Challa flushed hotly under his touch. It was fucking cute.

"Erik," T'Challa protested, drawing away. "We shouldn't."

"Aww, come on, don't get shy now," Erik coaxed. "I'll be seeing you naked anyway in the next Trial. Won't I?" he asked, suddenly uncertain. "We passed the Trial of Strength, right?" 

"Yes," T'Challa said, his expression softening. "Maybe I didn't make it clear earlier - there is no external judge for the Trials. If we both feel that a Trial is successful, then it is so. And I do believe that we will fight well together."

"Yeah, cause I'm good enough to kick your ass," Erik said, grinning, even as he was thinking, _Damn, passing the courtship trials is going to be even easier than I had thought._

"You are a very skilled warrior, yes," T'Challa acknowledged. "Offensive where I am defensive - I believe that our fighting styles complement each other. More importantly, you did not let yourself get blinded by pride or bloodlust. You were neither cruel nor sadistic - you did not seek to torment or humiliate me, and you yielded once you showed me that you were the superior fighter. I would be honoured to have you fight by my side."

"Yeah," Erik said softly, suddenly feeling a little bad. He hadn't really meant all that. In the heat of the moment, when he'd decided to yield, there had just been the simple calculation - T'Challa was more useful to him alive than dead, and if he killed T'Challa, he wouldn't get to fuck T'Challa _and_ take the throne too. _Lose the battle, win the war._

"As for that - other thing," T'Challa continued, looking a little flustered. "As the king, I am not supposed to - to be intimate with anyone else, until I am married. Even with my suitor. I am to remain chaste."

"What the fuck, seriously?" Erik said in disbelief. "You're telling me the king can't fuck? Now I'm _really_ glad I didn't cut your throat and take your crown. We better get a move on with the Trials then, before you die of sexual frustration."

"Erik!"

"When's the Trial of Heart?" Erik asked.

"Tonight, at midnight," T'Challa said.

"Wow, y'all sure do things quickly here," Erik said, delighted. "Let's go, then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've changed the entire fic to past tense D: 
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

Erik hadn't known that the garden of the heart-shaped herbs was right under the palace. He looked with interest at the little purple blossoms growing out of the flower beds. The centre of each individual flower glowed with a beautiful, unearthly violet light - a light not found in any other flora on earth. 

The flower beds were placed in a ring around a raised central platform, on top of which was a large white bed. The platform was surrounded by four large torches, blazing brightly and throwing flickering shadows against the walls. T'Challa, dressed in a simple black robe, stood at one end of the platform, while Erik stood at the other. 

Erik looked pointedly at the bed between them and raised his eyebrows at T'Challa. T'Challa glanced away quickly, embarrassed.

"Leave us," T'Challa commanded the attendants. The attendants retreated, leaving T'Challa and Erik alone in the garden.

T'Challa took a torch from one of the brackets beside him, motioning for Erik to do the same. Curious, Erik took a torch too.

"Burn the herbs," T'Challa said. "All of them."

"What?!" Erik exclaimed.

"It is a necessary part of this Trial," T'Challa said.

"You sure, man?" Erik asked doubtfully. 

"The roots will not be affected. The smoke that will be produced from the burning is crucial for the Trial." T'Challa said. "Anyway, we have stockpiles."

Erik looked around at the numerous flower beds where the heart-shaped herbs bloomed. It seemed like a shame to burn  _all_ of them, especially now that he knew that the herb could grant its user the superpowers of the Black Panther. Maybe he could take one of the flowers, hide it somewhere on himself? No, he would have to undress soon. He would have no place to hide it, except -

Erik shook his head ruefully and, imitating T'Challa, touched the flaming end of his torch towards the closest bed of flowers. With a pang, he watched the heart-shaped herbs go up in flames. 

Immediately, shimmering white smoke filled the air, along with a strange, almost-sweet fragrance that Erik couldn't identify. Intrigued, Erik walked around his half of the garden, setting the rest of the flower beds alight too. The crackle of the scouring flames, the blazing heat, the sheer _destruction_ of something so rare and priceless - it was mesmerizing. Almost intoxicating.

_Burn it all._

"Now what?" Erik asked, returning the torch to its bracket. He looked over at T'Challa, who was standing at the other edge of the garden. 

Biting his lip, T'Challa started to undo the fastenings of his robe.

"Now we're getting to the good part," Erik purred, smirking. He slipped his robe off his shoulders and unfastened his pants, kicking them off to lie in a messy pile on the floor. His necklace, though, he kept on - his father's ring would never leave his side.

Erik stepped towards the bed, where T'Challa was sitting perched on one corner, fully nude, his hands coyly crossed over his lap.

"Fuck, you're so hot," Erik breathed reverently, the words slipping out before he could stop himself. Erik drank in the sight of T'Challa's bare chest, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat from the heat of the flames. His eyes trailed down from T'Challa's torso, tracing downwards from his perky brown nipples to his well-defined abs, and further down to the first shadowy curls of hair above T'Challa's groin. 

\- Wait. Those words  _had_ slipped out. Erik hadn't meant to say that aloud. 

A sudden suspicion blossomed in Erik's mind. He turned to look at the flames surrounding them, taking in the shimmering white smoke rising from the flower beds. The unusual smell of the burning herbs - like chrysanthemums, mixed with a hint of mint and something spicy-sharp - seemed to intensify as Erik focused on it. It was a very pleasant fragrance. Almost...intoxicating.

"T'Challa," Erik said slowly, "What's all this smoke doing to us?"

"Inhaling the smoke lowers our inhibitions," T'Challa answered. "And it will make speaking any untruths...unpalatable. That's why I told you that burning the herbs was essential for the Trial of Heart."

"Shit," Erik swore. Experimentally, he said, "One plus one equals three."

The words hung in the air. Flat, dead, accompanied by a distinct feeling of _wrongness_. 

"One plus one equals two," Erik said. This time, the words felt solid, ringing with truth. _Right_.

"Do not worry. This is not a truth serum," T'Challa said, as if reading Erik's mind. "The smoke will not compel you to reveal anything that you do not wish to tell me. It will not force you to answer any questions that you do not wish to answer. It merely makes speaking the truth vastly more preferable to telling lies." 

Now that T'Challa had pointed it out, he could feel the subtle, insidious effects of the burning herbs with each additional breath, each inhale. It was almost like being drunk, but without any of the usual physical effects - no drunken buzz, no lightheadedness, no slurring. Just a burgeoning urge to cup T'Challa's face in his hands, confess everything to him and then fuck him into the mattress until he was senseless and begging for mercy. 

Oh. Lowered inhibitions. Right.

This was...a very unexpected development, but it wasn't that bad. It was manageable, if Erik controlled himself properly and didn't reveal his master plan before he had T'Challa well and truly hooked. But Erik would have to tread _very_ carefully now, so as not to let anything incriminating slip out.

Erik tried not to look too worried as he sat down on the bed and stretched out so that he was lying on his side. "You gonna lie down too?" he asked T'Challa. "Or are you just going to sit there all night?"

T'Challa hesitated for a moment before he crawled up the bed, lying down besides Erik so that their faces were turned towards each other, almost nose to nose.  This close, Erik could feel the heat of T'Challa's breath against his own face. Could almost count each long, curling eyelash as they stared in each other's eyes. 

Slowly, Erik reached his right hand up to brush his fingertips over T'Challa's mouth, tracing the perfect bow of T'Challa's soft lips. 

T'Challa shivered. "Erik," he whispered, voice hushed and helpless, as if Erik's name had been torn out of his lips. Erik burned with the desire to hear T'Challa say his name again, and again, helpless and wanting, as if he couldn't stop himself. He moved his hand to T'Challa's cheek, stroking circles with his thumb as T'Challa let his eyelids flutter closed. Almost of its own volition, Erik's hand left T'Challa's face after one last lingering caress, trailing down T'Challa's neck and chest - and then he stopped, his fingers hovering over T'Challa's nipple.

"This chastity thing," Erik said quietly. "You've really never done anything before? With anyone?"

T'Challa bit his lip. He confessed, "There was a time when I was still the crown prince, and I was chafing at the restrictions on myself, especially this particular restriction on the king. I thought it a pointless and outdated tradition, and I decided that it would be best if I - if I fully enjoyed myself, with as many women as I could, before the restriction came upon me and I had no choice in the matter. It was all quite meaningless, in the end. Not like - this. I was very young and foolish."

Erik laughed. "So the naughty crown prince had a period where he fucked anything that walked?" 

"I'm sure you had your own period of youthful rebellion," T'Challa said, flushing hot.

"Actually, no," Erik said, his expression immediately darkening. Since _that night_ , he had been driven by nothing but his twin goals - vengeance and power. He had poured all his energy into studying and training, knowing that he would have to be the best of the best to be skilled enough to make it into Wakanda one day. He hadn't had the luxury of time for youthful rebellion. One little fuckup and he would've been expelled, sent to juvie, or worse. The American educational and justice system didn't look kindly on poor, black juvenile delinquents. Erik had spent his entire childhood striving to stay on the straight and narrow path.

"What's wrong?" T'Challa asked, concerned.

_Nothing_ didn't seem to be the right answer, given the circumstances. "Just thinking about the past," Erik said quietly.  

"What was it like?" T'Challa asked. "Your childhood in America?"

For a moment, Erik was struck dumb by the sheer naivety, the sheer _innocence_ of T'Challa's question. As if Erik had any choice in the matter, when he ought to have grown up here in Wakanda. Here, with T'Challa.

"You've got no idea," Erik said harshly. A deep surge of bitterness welled up in him, surprising him with its intensity.

The smoke was lowering his inhibitions. Heightening his emotions. 

_Control_ , Erik warned himself, looking into T'Challa's eyes as T'Challa winced. T'Challa had touched a nerve, he knew it.  _Not T'Challa's fault. He didn't know about me._ Erik searched for a way to explain as neutrally as he could. 

"I grew up in Oakland," Erik said. "Inner city, you know what it's like? Ma was from there, lived there all her life. She was real tough. Died in an accident when I was five. Then Dad died. I was ten. I went into the system. Bounced around a bit. Went to a few shitty homes, a few shitty schools. Joining the army was my ticket out. It paid for my tuition fees, and I knew I'd have somewhere to live after I aged out." _And I needed to learn how to kill_ , Erik added quietly, in his own mind. The herb didn't compel him to reveal that. Good. 

"I am sorry," T'Challa said quietly, reaching out tentatively to cup Erik's cheek. Erik closed his eyes briefly, leaning into T'Challa's touch, all soft and sympathetic. It was nice. 

"S' fine. Everyone dies." Erik said dismissively. "I got over it long ago."

The last sentence sounded grating on their ears. Jarring. Erik flinched. 

The herb revealed the lie.

"Fuck this," Erik said bitterly, under his breath.

"It is no shame to grieve," T'Challa said quietly. "When my father died, I was filled with pain and rage. I held his broken, bleeding body in my arms as he breathed his last. It was the greatest personal loss I had ever known. I swore revenge on his killer, and almost destroyed myself, and other innocents, in the pursuit of revenge." 

"Your father -" Erik began furiously, before managing to stop himself. Too late.

T'Challa looked at him steadily. "Go on."

_Fuck_. 

Erik said nothing.

"...Our fathers didn't get along?" T'Challa guessed, uncertain. "My father never really mentioned Uncle N'Jobu. All I know was that he migrated to America a long time ago."

"Didn't _get along_? _Migrated?_ " Erik snorted. The nerve of - "Never mind. Don't worry about it. It's got nothing to do with ya. I'll handle it on my own."

"Please, Erik. Tell me." T'Challa widened his eyes appealingly at Erik.

Damn him.

"Don't give me the fucking Bambi eyes," Erik muttered. "Better that you don't know."

"I want to know," T'Challa said earnestly.

"You can tell if I'm lying. Am I lying? Trust me, you don't wanna know. It'd break your little Bambi heart."

"Erik," T'Challa said seriously. "I cannot avoid difficult truths, just because they may be unpleasant to face. As the king, I need to - "

That really set Erik off. The king of Wakanda, pretending to value  _facing the truth_ while hiding behind his forcefields and walls, oblivious to the suffering outside. How _dare_ he?

"You really wanna know? You want the truth?" Erik snarled, furious. "How's this? My father was _murdered_. I found my daddy with panther claws in his chest! You ain't the son of a king! You're the son of a murderer!" Erik's voice rose to a shout on the last sentence. Each word had the awful ring of truth.

T'Challa flinched away, mouth falling open in shock. He recoiled from Erik, sitting up.

Too late to take it back. Erik's plan to seduce T'Challa was falling to shambles in front of his eyes, but once he started speaking, he couldn't seem to stop himself. He had carried this awful secret within him for so long that it was cathartic, finally, to lay it all out on the table, to bring the truth to light.

Erik sat up, too, drawing closer to T'Challa, inflamed with righteous fury. "I was only ten," he said, accusingly. "Playing ball with my friends one night, when a _spaceship_ appeared overhead, cloaked in the clouds. I couldn't believe it. I ran up, happy and excited, sure that we were going back to my daddy's home, leaving our shitty apartment for this _paradise_ where I would be a prince, and I found - " Erik choked, his voice breaking off. "I found - he was - "

"Erik," T'Challa whispered, eyes wide and horrified. "I swear, I didn't know."

"I _know_ you didn't know," Erik snapped. "Or I would've killed you that day in the throne room. If you had known all along, but covered it up."

"My father wouldn't have done that," T'Challa whispered, shaking his head in denial. "He's a good man. He'd never do that."

No lies. T'Challa sincerely believed that.

"A g _ood man_  wouldn't assassinate his own brother. A _good man_ wouldn't murder an innocent bystander. A _good man_ wouldn't leave his own nephew to find his father's corpse! To grow up in the hood, alone!"

"Murder a bystander?"

"Yeah. A friend of my father was supposed to be staying over that night. Uncle James. I never saw him again. He was just...disappeared. Must have seen too much."

"I can't believe it," T'Challa said. "My father...he must have been framed. It must have been someone else. Maybe your Uncle James - "

"How the fuck could a guy like Uncle James get a spaceship? Get panther claws? He was just a normal guy! Just a guy from the hood! It was your father who did it! Face the truth!"

"Erik," T'Challa turned to him, taking Erik's hands in his own. There were tears welling in his eyes. "I swear, I will find the truth of this matter. I will hunt down your father's murderer and anyone else who was involved. Your enemy is my enemy. Your vengeance is my vengeance.  _ **I swear it, on the throne**_." The last sentence was said in Xhosa, and Erik could feel the ritual weight of the words. The sincerity behind his oath, enhanced by the smoke from the burning herbs.

"And if - if it was really my father who - " T'Challa's lip trembled, and the tears spilled over.

Erik immediately felt terrible. None of this was T'Challa's fault.

"Stop crying, dammit," Erik muttered, raising the back of his hand to T'Challa's face, to brush his tears away. "Don't - don't feel bad. I don't blame you. Ain't your fault for any of this, I mean. You didn't know. I shouldn't even have shouted at you."

T'Challa gave him a shaky, tentative smile, but at least he'd stopped crying. "Let me finish," he said quietly. "I will face the truth. Even if my father had done it," at that, T'Challa's voice trembled, "even if so, he could not have done it alone. Our ships require two people to pilot, at the very least. I swear, I will kill anyone else who assisted in committing and covering up this crime. This will be my courting gift to you."

_Courting gift._ That was the final step of the courtship ritual.

Erik laughed, a little shaky. "So the courtship's still on? I haven't fucked all of this up?"

"I will not let this come between us," T'Challa said firmly. "On the contrary, I am glad you told me." 

_Truth._

T'Challa reached his hand to the back of Erik's nape, drawing their heads close together. Their foreheads touched, and Erik closed his eyes, letting the tension bleed out from his body.

"Good," Erik said quietly, reaching up his own hand to cup T'Challa's face.

And it was so natural, then, to tilt T'Challa's chin up, and press their lips together into a slow, sweet kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Okay, I know that for some reason top/bottom discourse has spread into the t'cherik fandom on tumblr (well, it's mostly just good-natured memes, but still...) Let me just say: I'm usually very flexible when it comes to who tops in my ships. I've written 1 top T'Challa fic (Love Like War), 1 powerbottom T'Challa (Yield) and 1 switch (1001 Nights). Now I just want to play it straight (lmao), so there's gonna be shy virgin T'Challa in the next chapter. You've been warned!
> 
> 2\. Also, to clarify Erik's plan: he has always wanted 2 things (covered in chapter 1): vengeance and power. He dropped the idea of vengeance against T'Challa once it was clear that T'Challa didn't know anything about the murder. To be clear, in this fic, Erik doesn't blame T'Challa for anything T'Chaka did (because it would make no sense here - like, Erik doesn't devote his life to a murder-Shuri campaign just because T'Chaka was Shuri's dad). He IS annoyed at T'Challa for being complicit in his people's oppression, but he's no angrier at this than he would be angry at any other Wakandan who grew up in luxury while others suffered.
> 
> Now he's focused on gaining power, which he intends to do by seducing T'Challa during the courtship and making T'Challa fall in love with him so that T'Challa will do anything Erik asked. But - oops! Erik has been catching feels~ instead. Who could've guessed that would happen?!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Cousinfucking in this chapter. Don't like, don't read. 
> 
> (Haha who am I kidding, it's what yall are here for)

Erik slid an arm around T'Challa's waist, cuddling T'Challa closer to himself as the kiss deepened. T'Challa was soft and pliant in his arms, yielding sweetly to the kiss as he leaned into Erik's embrace. 

Experimentally, Erik flicked his tongue over T'Challa's lips, a brief kitten lick, and was rewarded with a small gasping breath from T'Challa as his lips parted, allowing Erik to kiss him properly this time, with tongue. He waited for T'Challa to stop him, but T'Challa didn't pull away.

Encouraged, Erik bore down on T'Challa, pushing him gently down onto the soft sheets so that T'Challa was lying flat on his back. His hands explored T'Challa's body as their kisses deepened, stroking the smooth expanse of T'Challa's dark skin, so different from Erik's own scarred body. T'Challa's eyelids fluttered shut as he let out a soft, breathless sigh, melting into the careesses. He reached up, too, to run his hands over Erik's face and stroke his chest. 

But as Erik's hands started to dip lower, down towards T'Challa's groin, T'Challa's entire body stiffened under Erik. 

"We shouldn't," T'Challa whispered quietly, but it was a token protest, with no conviction behind it. "I can't."

"Oh, c'mon now," Erik murmured, soft and coaxing. "Big bed, both of us naked, and smoke that _lowers inhibitions?_  For a test of compatibility? Only reason your ancestors didn't call it the Trial of Sex instead of the Trial of Heart was because they were too squeamish. Or they wanted to be poetic about it."

"I think you're wrong," T'Challa protested, but his words sounded jarring, dissonant, under the effect of the smoke. 

Erik grinned, eyes sparkling. "Liar," he teased. 

T'Challa laughed too, ruefully, closing his eyes in sweet surrender as he tilted his forehead up to meet Erik's. But as Erik's hand resumed stroking up along T'Challa's inner thigh, T'Challa couldn't seem to stop himself from tensing up again, conflict and anxiety clear on his face.

"Hey, relax, babe. Don't get worked up now," Erik murmured, his hand stilling, hovering over T'Challa's thigh. "I'll stop if you want me to stop, yeah? If you don't want it. It's okay. Just tell me." Even though there was nothing that Erik wanted less at the moment, he withdrew his hand, running it reassuringly through T'Challa's curly hair instead, petting him like a cat as T'Challa's tense expression slowly relaxed.

"I do want it," T'Challa admitted softly, honestly. "I want you. It's just...I've never been with a man, before. I don't know..."

"Yeah? It can be just as good as with a woman. Better, even, if you're into that. Let me show you," Erik said, his voice low and heated, filled with dark promise. He ground his body against T'Challa, a smooth, slow grind that had T'Challa arching and whimpering beneath him as Erik's bumpy, scarred skin slid over his body. "I'll be so gentle. Imma make you feel so good you cry, kitten. Just let me. _T'Challa_."

T'Challa shuddered, his whole body trembling under Erik's, and Erik was struck with a sudden, fierce urge to make T'Challa do it again and again. To make T'Challa shiver helplessly under him, take him apart.

"Yes," T'Challa breathed out, eyes shutting as he let his head fall back, baring his soft throat as if in surrender.

"You're sure, kitten? _Look at me_."

T'Challa's eyes opened, locking onto Erik, and Erik felt the same electric jolt run though him as he'd felt the first time their eyes connected in the throne room, but ten times intensified. Heightened, by the smoke from the herbs.

"I'm sure," T'Challa said, and this time his voice was raspy instead of breathless, almost a growl deep in his throat. 

Erik wasted no time in sinking his mouth down against T'Challa's neck, kissing and licking at T'Challa's tender skin, feeling the warm throb of T'Challa's pulse point under his capped gold teeth and thrilling in the vibrations from T'Challa's shallow hitched whimpers. He licked long, slow stripes down T'Challa's neck and upper chest, hot and wet, as T'Challa squirmed. But when Erik's mouth finally reached T'Challa's nipple, T'Challa couldn't stop his hands, tangled in Erik's locs, from clenching hard. 

"Sorry, sorry," T'Challa gasped as Erik winced at the tug on his hair. T'Challa let his hands fall to the sheets instead, clenching and unclenching. "I - ah - I - _Erik_ -"

"S' fine, babe, do what you like. Wanna make you lose control," Erik purred, bending his head back down to lick at T'Challa's nipples, which were apparently very sensitive. T'Challa cried out, twisting and squirming as Erik laved his tongue over each little nub, teasing them until they were hard and swollen against T'Challa's chest.

When Erik finally lifted his head to look up at T'Challa, he could see that T'Challa's lips were swollen from his biting, his face crumpled in an expression of tormented pleasure. He was a wreck. 

Erik moved up to pull T'Challa in close for a deep kiss, and T'Challa's breath came out in shaky little pants against Erik's face as he sighed into it.

"Fuck, T'Challa, you're so hot," Erik said, voice dark and heated. "I could suck on your tits all day, but let's get to the good part now, yeah?"

Erik trailed his hand down T'Challa's body towards his cock, closing his fist around the hot, hard length, already slick at the tip with precome. T'Challa cried out, trembling against Erik as Erik began to stroke his cock with one hand, paying extra attention to the sensitive head. 

Erik raised the fingers of his other hand to T'Challa's spit-slick lips. "Get them wet, cuz," he said, and T'Challa's mouth closed almost desperately around Erik's fingers, sucking hard at them as Erik's hand worked his cock with swift, sure strokes. 

"Are you - are you going to...?" T'Challa asked, gasping, once Erik withdrew his fingers from T'Challa's mouth.

"What, baby?" 

"Fuck me now," T'Challa said, flushing hot all over, his cheeks burning with mortification. It struck Erik that this was the first time he'd ever heard T'Challa, the king, say an actual swear word. _He'd_ done that.

"Eager, huh?" Erik laughed. "Gonna need a lot more than spit for your first time, kitten, or it's really gonna hurt. I'm sure they gave us some lube or oil for this Trial, it's gotta be somewhere around here..."

Erik climbed off T'Challa's body to look about them, delighting in T'Challa's sad little whimper as his hand left T'Challa's cock. He soon found what he was looking for - a container of lube discreetly shoved under the bed. 

"And you tried to tell me this wasn't a sex trial," Erik said, smirking as he straightened up from the edge of the bed. When he turned around to face T'Challa, he saw that T'Challa was already kneeling up, hard cock jutting out in front of him as he looked up at Erik through his lashes. 

"Yeah, babe? We can do it like this too, if you want," Erik said, sitting down at the edge of the bed. "Come here."

Erik pulled T'Challa into an embrace so that T'Challa was straddling him, knees spread wide astride both sides of Erik's thighs as he sat in Erik's lap, chest to chest. With one hand, Erik uncapped the lube, smearing a generous amount onto his fingers and palms as he used his other, spit-slick hand to continue stroking T'Challa's cock. T'Challa moaned breathlessly at the slippery glide of Erik's hand around him, throwing his head back as he arched against Erik, baring his throat.

" _T'Challa_ ," Erik murmured, pressing his lips to the skin of T'Challa's neck. He brought his other hand up from where it was resting at T'Challa's hip to knead gently at his ass. T'Challa whimpered at the new sensation, letting out a choked little gasp as Erik's index finger started to circle around his hole, teasing at the rim. 

"Ready?" Erik asked.

T'Challa didn't say anything, only nodded shakily, his hands tightening around Erik's shoulders. 

Erik pressed his lubed finger in, gently, meeting little to no resistance as he entered.

"Does it hurt?" Erik asked.

"N-no... _Erik_...ahhhhh..."

Erik continued to jerk T'Challa off as his fingers slowly worked T'Challa open, all the while kissing and licking at T'Challa's neck. He probed in deeper, searching for -

" _Ahh!_ " T'Challa cried out, tensing all over as Erik found the little bundle of nerves of his prostate. "Erik - _stop_ \- I'm going to - "

Erik pressed a final kiss to the base of T'Challa's neck. "Come for me, T'Challa."

T'Challa shuddered as he climaxed in Erik's hand, spurting hot and wet into Erik's fist. Erik squeezed T'Challa's cock lightly for a few final pumps, wringing the last few drops of T'Challa's orgasm out of him.

Spent, T'Challa rested limply against Erik's chest, pressing his forehead against Erik for a few moments. 

"You did so good, baby," Erik said, drinking in the sight of T'Challa's absolutely debauched expression, T'Challa's wet and shiny eyes. "So fucking good."

"What about - what about you?" T'Challa asked hoarsely, gesturing between themselves at Erik's still-hard cock.

Erik grinned. "What do you think," he said, lifting T'Challa bodily off his lap, pushing T'Challa back onto the bed. He rolled T'Challa over so that he was on his front, and T'Challa moved easily with him, pliant and loose-limbed after his orgasm.

"Kneel," Erik said. T'Challa tucked his knees under himself, raising his ass in the air tantalizingly. The cleft of his ass was still slick with lube from where Erik had fingered him open earlier, and Erik started to add T'Challa's own cum to the slick mess, using his fingers to smear it around and inside T'Challa's stretched hole. 

"So wet for me, cuz," Erik breathed in T'Challa's ear. "So open. Think you're ready to get dicked yet, huh? Ready to scream?"

"Just - just do it," T'Challa mumbled, flushing hot with embarassment as he shifted his knees further apart. 

"Nah, I don't think that sounded sexy enough," Erik teased, tapping his fingers against T'Challa's hip. "Try again."

"Erik!"

"How about, 'Fuck me _please_ , cousin, I want your fat cock in me?' How about - "

"Erik, _shut up!_ " T'Challa cried, reverting to Xhosa in his mortification. He ground back against Erik, and the feel of T'Challa's plush ass against his groin was enough to fill Erik with lust in place of his desire to continue teasing T'Challa, all the more so when T'Challa continued in an embarrassed, shaky voice, "Just fuck me, _please_."

"Yes, Your Highness," Erik purred. He lined his hard cock up at T'Challa's hole and pressed in, slow but insistent, fucking into T'Challa's tight heat as T'Challa writhed under him, opened up for the first time.

"Nghhh," T'Challa whimpered, involuntarily clenching down hard on Erik, making Erik groan at the tightness. 

"Relax, baby," Erik said reassuringly, petting T'Challa's flank as his other hand gripped T'Challa's hip in place. "Does it hurt?"

"Yes - no - I don't know," T'Challa gasped. No lies, oddly enough, as far as Erik could tell. "Feels different. Full - _oh._ "

Erik began to move in slow, shallow thrusts, rolling his pelvis as he ground a little deeper into T'Challa each time, pulling T'Challa back by the hips.

_Fuck._ Fucking under the influence of the smoke was really something else. Each sensation was intensified - the hot, slick heat of T'Challa clenching around his cock, the way that T'Challa squirmed in his grasp each time Erik pushed in, the short, breathless moans from T'Challa that punctuated each shallow thrust. Erik wasn't going to last long like this.

"Gonna speed up now," he warned T'Challa, "your ass can take it, yeah? Doesn't hurt?"

"Yes," T'Challa gasped, voice muffled against the sheets as he pushed his cheeks back against Erik.

That was all the invitation that Erik needed. He began fucking T'Challa fast and hard, pulling T'Challa's hips back towards himself with each thrust, making him take it. T'Challa's moans quickly turned to cries, and then to actual muffled wails as Erik's cock speared him open, hot and thick as it pushed into the deepest parts of himself.

"Erik - I can't - can't take it, I'm going to -"

T'Challa came again for the second time, body seizing up as his cock spurted thin white stripes of cum from where it had been rubbing against the sheets. The feeling of T'Challa's hole clenching down on Erik in the throes of his orgasm was enough to tip Erik over the edge, and Erik was coming too, filling T'Challa up with his cum. 

Erik relaxed against T'Challa, draping himself over T'Challa's back as they lay pressed together, panting.

"Heavy," T'Challa finally said, wriggling a little to shrug Erik off.

Erik pulled out with a soft wet noise, taking his weight off T'Challa as he did so. He reached down to pry T'Challa's cheeks apart for a closer look at his handiwork, admiring the way the little pearls of creamy white cum leaked from T'Challa's sloppy, well-fucked hole. 

"Don't _look_ ," T'Challa begged, burying his head in his hands in shame.

Erik laughed. "Alright, kitten. You're fucking cute, you know that? How about this?" Resting on his side, he put an arm over T'Challa's shoulder, dragging him close into Erik's embrace.

"Shoulda known you'd want to cuddle instead. You did great, T'Challa. So fucking good. You were so fucking hot." Erik stroked T'Challa's back, petting him as T'Challa relaxed in his arms, all warm and pliant. 

They lay against each other for long minutes, curled together in each other's arms.

T'Challa moved to caress Erik's back too, running his fingers lightly over Erik's scarred skin.

"I've been meaning to ask," T'Challa said, tracing the marks on Erik's back. "These scars..?"

"One for each kill," Erik admitted, sobering up. "There's been hundreds. Dug every single one into my own skin, myself. Hurt like a bitch, but I had to do it."

T'Challa stiffened in Erik's arms, horrified.

"Now you know what I am," Erik said quietly. "Scared off? I ain't a good man, cuz. Don't get the wrong idea."

T'Challa swallowed. "I don't care," he said firmly. "I love you. All of you, Erik. _N'Jadaka_."

Erik froze. 

He had planned for this, to get T'Challa hooked. From the beginning, this had been part of his plot, making T'Challa fall in love with him. 

He really should have seen this one coming.

Then why did he feel so shaken?

"You shouldn't," Erik admitted finally, after a long pause. Raw. Honest. Guilt clenched in his chest. "I'll break your heart, T'Challa. I'm no good for you."

T'Challa ignored it all, reaching out to cup Erik's face in his hands. 

"Erik, please," T'Challa said quietly. "I need to hear it too."

"I -"

Erik couldn't say it. His voice caught in his throat.

The worst part was, he didn't even know whether it would be a truth or a lie. What the herb would reveal, if he said it. 

He wasn't sure if he wanted to know.

"Erik," T'Challa whispered, pleadingly, and it was the soft, broken way that T'Challa said his name which finally shattered Erik.

"I love you too," Erik said hoarsely, and noted with utter lack of surprise the absolute truth of his words. 

Because hadn't this feeling been blossoming within him since the very beginning, when he first met T'Challa's warm eyes in the throne room? 

T'Challa's answering smile was incandescent, brighter than all the surrounding flames.


	6. Interlude

  Interlude: Erik 

 

The next Trial would be three days from now, T'Challa told Erik. And they wouldn't be allowed to meet or talk during the time in between. Some sort of built-in cooling-off period. 

 Erik agreed after only a couple of token protests, secretly grateful for the excuse to avoid T'Challa. He was still shaken by the revelation that he had somehow  _fallen in love_ with his cousin.

That had definitely not been part of the plan.

  _It's just a crush_ , he told himself fiercely. He was just temporarily infatuated with T'Challa, that was all. Because T'Challa was so attractive, warm, kind, sincere and damn  _fuckable_. And so clearly in love with Erik.

_And what you really want is someone ugly, nasty, cruel, dishonest and frigid? Who hates you?_ a mean little voice of reason said in Erik's head. 

A fresh wave of horrified realisation swept through Erik.

No.

T'Challa was not the man of his dreams, damn it.

No fucking way. 

Maybe...maybe T'Challa had a lot of irritating personal habits, Erik told himself desperately. Maybe he was the sort of person who would steal all the blankets to his side of the bed when he was sleeping.

An image flashed through Erik's mind of T'Challa snuggled up warmly in a roll of blankets like a goddamn burrito, with a blissful expression on his sleepy face.

It was a hopelessly cute picture. Erik's heart clenched.

Shit.

He was fucked.

* * *

Erik decided to go for a walk to clear his head. He bumped into W'Kabi on his way out of the palace. 

"Prince N'Jadaka," W'Kabi said. "I was looking for you."

"Yeah?" Erik said, a funny little feeling going through his body at the title.  _His title_. "And it's just Erik." 

W'Kabi eyed him curiously. 

"Don't overthink it," Erik said, feeling oddly defensive. "I just prefer Erik. You got a fucking problem with that?"

W'Kabi seemed to be holding back a sigh. "Erik. May we speak?"

"Yeah, just - not here," Erik said. He didn't want  to stay in the palace and risk bumping into T'Challa. "Y'all got any bars or something? I need a fucking drink."

W'Kabi glanced at his kimoyo beads. "It's ten in the morning."

Erik glared at him.

W'Kabi couldn't hold back his sigh this time. "Follow me."

* * *

Wakandan beer was intensely bitter and hoppy. Erik immediately hated it.

"This place sucks," Erik groused. "The beer sucks. The music sucks - it's too fucking noisy. Too much bass. The food sucks. Too spicy. And why is this place so full at ten in the morning?? There's too many people here for a place that sucks this much."

"You are a very difficult person," W'Kabi observed, lips quirking in a small smile.

"Yeah, well, I'm in a bad mood today," Erik muttered. "Believe me, I'm usually a fucking delight."

"Is the courtship not going well?" W'Kabi asked, looking slightly worried.

"Nah, it's going great," Erik said. "Fantastic, actually. That's the problem."

W'Kabi seemed amused. "I had last-minute doubts before my wedding too. But marrying Okoye was the best decision of my life."

Horrified, Erik said, "I don't have  _pre-wedding jitters."_

Then he thought about it again.

Fuck.

"Can we talk about something else?" Erik asked W'Kabi, a little desperately.

W'Kabi laughed. Then he turned serious, looking directly into Erik's eyes.

"Erik," W'Kabi said, "I would like to thank you for killing Ulysses Klaue. I lost both my parents when he attacked at the border. Thirty years I have waited, for vengeance on my parents' murderer. I am in your debt."

_Thirty years, waiting for vengeance_. That struck a deep chord within Erik. 

"You're welcome," Erik said quietly, raw sincerity in his voice. "I understand. I know what it's like.  _Waiting_." The last word was hissed, with a bitter twist to Erik's lips. 

W'Kabi's eyes widened slightly with surprise, then narrowed.

The leader of the Border Tribe was a smart man. Erik could see him putting the pieces together.

_Waiting._

_Vengeance._

_The orphaned prince, returning to Wakanda immediately after T'Chaka's death._

"T'Challa is my best friend," W'Kabi said slowly, cautiously. "But I have no love for the late King T'Chaka, who willingly let my parents' murderer run free despite my pleas, choosing to close his eyes to anything beyond Wakanda's borders."

Erik said nothing. The silence stretched. 

"If I am wrong -" W'Kabi began uncertainly.

"You ain't wrong," Erik said, cutting him off.

"How did it happen?" W'Kabi asked quietly.

Erik said nothing.

"An assassination?" 

Erik nodded once, jerkily, his lips pressed tightly together.

"Does T'Challa know?" W'Kabi asked.

"Yeah, he got it out of me last night. I think he doesn't want to believe it. Said he wants to investigate," Erik said quietly. "It's fine. I don't blame T'Challa. What happened wasn't his fault."

There was a long pause. 

"All of this stays between us," Erik said, looking fiercely at W'Kabi. "You owe me."

"You have my word," W'Kabi said.

There was another pause. Erik took a sip of his beer.

"At least you can take comfort in the fact that the murderer is dead," W'Kabi murmured. "Even if it was not done by your hand. At least his death was painful and violent."

Erik tilted his glass in W'Kabi's direction, a silent toast. They shared twin, vicious smiles. 

Erik and W'Kabi sat together in companionable silence for several minutes, both lost in the past.

"How come you didn't hunt down Klaue yourself, though?" Erik asked, choosing his words carefully. "I know I would've."

W'Kabi looked bitter. "Without the King's permission, we are not supposed to interfere outside our borders. It would have been treason."

"Sounds like a stupid policy to me," Erik said casually. "Maybe it's time for a change."

W'Kabi glanced assessingly at Erik. "You aren't the first person to try this, you know. Nakia - T'Challa's ex - she also believed that we ought to do more in the outside world. She couldn't persuade T'Chaka, or T'Challa either. In the end, she left Wakanda. She came back for the coronation, but she'll be leaving again soon.

"And I also spoke to T'Challa on the day of his coronation. I asked him to let me take our army beyond our borders. To restore order and justice to the outside world. T'Challa refused to listen." 

"Well," Erik said coolly, "I have more leverage over T'Challa than either Nakia or you. And if it comes down to that, I  _also_  have a claim to the throne. I ain't leaving here."

A silence fell.

"T'Challa is my best friend," W'Kabi said quietly. 

"He's my cousin. My blood," Erik said. "I won't hurt him...I'll try not to hurt him," Erik amended. (He would try.) "I could've cut his throat in the Trials if I just wanted the throne. I ain't gonna hurt T'Challa, if I can. But this is bigger than any single person."

W'Kabi looked contemplative.

"Wakanda's been hiding behind its walls for too long. You and I? We  _know_  it ain't right. Change is coming," Erik said. "Are you going to change? Or  _be_  changed?"

Erik looked at W'Kabi, fierce and defiant, meeting W'Kabi's steady gaze.

"You have my support," W'Kabi said. "When the time comes, the Border Tribe will stand behind you."

 

* * *

 

Interlude: T'Challa

 

"Good morning, Brother!" Shuri chirped, a wicked smile on her face. "Did you have a good sleep last night?"

T'Challa's face heated up in mortification,  memories of last night rising unbidden in his mind. Despite Erik's gentleness, T'Challa had still woken up sore in intimate places that had never felt sore before.

_("Aww, baby, you sore? My poor little kitten. C'mon, spread your legs, let me kiss it all better - "_

_"No!!")_

"Yes," T'Challa muttered, a complete lie. "Shuri, I need to tell you something important. About Erik."

"If this is about your sex life, I don't want to hear it," Shuri said immediately. 

"It's not about my sex life!" T'Challa said, flushing. "This is serious. It's very bad."

T'Challa filled Shuri in on Erik's allegations against T'Chaka. Shuri listened open-mouthed, her expression changing from disbelief to dismay.

"I persuaded Erik to let me tell you," T'Challa finished. "He was very insistent that I not tell anyone else, even Mother, in case they were involved. But I convinced him that you deserved to know."

"And I hadn't even been born yet when this happened, so he knew I couldn't have been involved," Shuri murmured. "T'Challa...I can't believe this. Baba wouldn't have done that. Something doesnt add up."

"That's what I felt," T'Challa said. "He was a good man. But Erik wasn't lying, I would've known if he were."

"That's not what I mean," Shuri said. "I mean,  _something doesn't add up_. What possible motive could Baba have, to kill his own brother?"

T'Challa frowned. "Erik thought that it was an assassination."

"A political killing? But that doesn't make sense. You said it yourself, Uncle N'Jobu had lived in America for at least ten years. He'd already settled down and started a family. It's not like he would be coming back to Wakanda anytime soon. If the killing was just to preserve the succession, why not kill Erik as well? It doesn't add up."

"You're right," T'Challa said slowly. "There are many things about this that we still do not understand."

"I'll continue thinking about it," Shuri said. "Actually, you know what...you could just ask Uncle N'Jobu."

"How... _oh_. The next Trial. The journey to the ancestral plane! Shuri, you're so smart. You're the best."

"Don't thank me so soon, Brother." Shuri said. "You might not like to hear what he has to say."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you stan Killmonger you should stan W'Kabi too I'M JUST SAYING.
> 
> Imagine this:
> 
> -W'Kabi, having to watch with his own eyes how T'Challa broke his promise to kill Klaue AND let Klaue slip away. (I bet he cried while watching youtube videos of the Busan fight). 
> 
> -W'Kabi, filled with rage and betrayal, thinking he'd have to wait another _thirty years_ to get revenge... and then Erik shows up the very next day with Klaue's corpse in tow, the royal ring and the world's most heartbreaking story of how T'Chaka and T'Challa ALSO screwed him over?? 
> 
> You just KNOW that Erik and W'Kabi had an epic bonding/bitching session. I'm just sad that we didn't get to see it in the movie.


	7. Chapter 7

The Wakandans worked fast. Three days later, when Erik returned to the garden of the heart-shaped herbs, he saw that the flower beds had already been replanted. Little green sprouts peeked out from the soil, enriched with ash and fertilizer. The bed had been removed from the central platform, and in its place were two identical depressions, filled with coarse orange sand. Several attendants were bending over the little sandy pits, raking the sand flat.

T'Challa was already there, back turned towards Erik, watching the attendants at work. T'Challa was topless, but the silver teeth of the Black Panther necklace glinted around his neck. Beside T'Challa stood the shaman from the Trial of Strength, dressed in his customary purple robe.

"Wassup?" Erik said. 

T'Challa turned around, a smile breaking over his face. Erik's heart gave a funny little spasm in his chest.

"Erik," T'Challa greeted, with just a touch of relief in his voice. "I am glad to see you again." 

"Thought that I'd get cold feet? Nah, I'm all into this," Erik said. Not a lie, exactly, even if he  _had_  spent most of last night agonizing over whether to return for the final Trial, in case he fell even harder for T'Challa. But in the end, Erik had finally decided to continue with his original plan.

"So how does this Trial go?" Erik asked.

T'Challa gestured at the shaman beside him. "Zuri will prepare the herb for us, and after we ingest it, we will visit the ancestral plane together."

Erik glanced curiously at the shaman. He still didn't really believe in the whole ancestral plane shit, but after the Trial of Heart, he had to admit that there was something very unusual about the herbs. Was it really possible that ingesting the herb could separate a person's spirit from his body? Bring a person into some sort of spiritual world?

No, that was just ridiculous. Ghosts weren't real. Maybe the herb had some sort of hallucinogenic effect when ingested. Yeah, that had to be it.

"Aight, let's do it," Erik said.

T'Challa lay down in one of the sandy pits, motioning for Erik to do the same. Erik followed suit. 

Erik watched with interest as Zuri began to grind the herbs with a mortar and pestle. He tipped the resulting liquid mixture into T'Challa's open mouth. Erik watched as glowing purple veins spread over T'Challa's face, fading as quickly as they appeared.

T'Challa closed his eyes, and the surrounding attendants began to spread the orange sand over him with their rakes,  _including_  over T'Challa's face as well. Burying him alive. 

"Uhh... is this really how it's supposed to go?" Erik asked.  

T'Challa did not answer Erik.

"How are you gonna breathe?" Erik demanded, worried. 

Nobody answered Erik. The last grains of sand fell over T'Challa's face. 

Zuri turned away from T'Challa, moving towards Erik. 

"Oh, fuck this," Erik muttered, lying back as well. If T'Challa could do it, so could he.

Resigned, Erik opened his mouth, and the shaman leaned over him. 

Upon seeing Zuri up close, Erik was suddenly struck by the strangest feeling that there was something familiar about him. Something that Erik couldn't quite place. 

But as Zuri poured the glowing, viscous liquid down Erik's throat, all conscious thought was wiped from Erik's mind.

Fire raced through Erik's body, his blood, his bones, scouring him clean. His body jerked and stiffened as the herb rebuilt his bones and muscles - his very  _self -_ infusing him with the strength of the Black Panther. 

And darkness washed over Erik as the grains of sand fell on him, drowning him in the black silence of the grave. 

* * *

He was back in Oakland. 

The creaking of the lift, the familiar pungent smell of stale urine and cigarette smoke, the hum of the flickering electric light - 

He was back in the lift, taking it up to his home in Oakland. T'Challa was standing beside him, but he towered over Erik. With another jolt of shock, Erik realised that he was - 

He was a _boy._  Ten, at most. 

"T'Challa?" Erik asked. "...What?  _How?"_

"I am not sure," T'Challa admitted. He looked puzzled too. "The last time I visited the ancestral plane, it did not look like this. There was a large grassland, with panthers and people. Perhaps it appears differently for everyone." 

So Erik's version of the ancestral plane was just the lift to his shitty apartment in Oakland? While T'Challa got to see his  _actual_  ancestors in some sort of panther heaven? 

That was so excruciatingly unfair that Erik immediately opened his mouth to complain,  but he was cut off by the ding of the bell as the lift arrived at his floor. 

Warily, Erik stepped out and was faced with the door to his home. 

_So real_ , Erik marvelled to himself. 

He pushed the unlocked door open, and went in. 

T'Challa paused at the threshold of the doorway. "I can't enter," he said, confused. "I think... I think it's only supposed to be you." 

Erik shrugged. To be honest, he was thankful that T'Challa wasn't able to enter his house. Not that he was ashamed of his home, exactly...but he didn't want T'Challa, who had lived in luxury all his life, to see with his own eyes how Erik had grown up. He didn't want T'Challa's pity.  

The apartment was exactly like Erik had remembered it. A small cluttered flat, with the sofa and the television set in a corner of the living room. A tapestry on the wall. The bookshelf, with its hidden secrets.

Outside the window, unearthly hues of cerulean and violet flashed across the night sky, the only hint that this was not the same place where Erik had grown up. 

No one else was in the house. A part of Erik was silently glad about that. Despite what T'Challa had said about meeting his ancestors, he hadn't actually been expecting to see anyone  _(ghosts aren't real)._ But it was still a relief to be proven correct. 

Erik wandered over to the bookshelf, activating the hidden control so that it swung open. Behind it lay an assortment of guns and his father's journal, tucked between several other innocuous books.

Erik opened the journal and took out the vibranium ring, laced through with a silver chain. 

"Hey," he said, turning back to the doorway, towards T'Challa. "Would you look at that - " 

Erik's words died in his throat. 

His father was sitting on the sofa, looking directly at Erik. He was wearing the same clothes that he had been wearing the day that he died. Erik vividly remembered sobbing his heart out into the very same bloodstained shirt. 

Erik froze, speechless. Distantly, he could hear T'Challa's sharp intake of breath.

"No tears for me?" his father asked quietly. 

_What the fuck,_ was the first thought that went through Erik's mind at the sight of his father, followed by  _how the fuck_. Then Erik's brain managed to process the words. 

"Everyone dies," Erik whispered. "It's just life around here."

_But you weren't supposed to die,_  Erik thought. Screamed, in his mind, as he moved towards the sofa, coming to sit next to his father.

Despite Erik's nonchalant words, he could feel hot tears trickling down his cheeks. He reached up a hand to wipe them away, and was unsurprised to see that he was himself again, all thirty years of age. Himself, angry and defiant, filled with violent rage at the world for taking everything from him. 

"Who did it?" Erik demanded hoarsely, voice shaking. T'Challa, damn him, had planted the tiniest seed of doubt within Erik. "Tell me. I'll kill them. T'Challa and I, we'll avenge you."

Erik waited, nerves strung tight in anticipation. 

"No," N'Jobu said. 

Erik couldn't believe his ears. " _What?"_  

"It's unimportant now. Do not let the mistakes of the past destroy what you have with T'Challa."

But how could Erik just let it go?  "It was T'Chaka, wasn't it? That's the only reason why you won't say anything! If anyone else had done it, you'd already have told me!"  

T'Challa seemed to have drawn the same conclusion. He let out a choked cry, and Erik looked up to see that T'Challa was pressing his fist to his mouth, eyes filled with tears. 

Erik's first, automatic instinct was to get up to comfort T'Challa, and he made a small aborted movement, almost standing up from the sofa before he caught himself. He could always work things out with T'Challa later, but he would never get the chance to speak to his father again. To get answers. 

"I know T'Chaka did it, and you're still protecting him _,"_ Erik snapped angrily, deliberately ignoring T'Challa's distress. "Fuck that! He doesn't deserve it, that fucking murderer! Tell me who else was involved! I'll kill them all!" 

But N'Jobu only looked at Erik sadly.

"Go to T'Challa, son," he said gently. "Don't let your hatred destroy what you already have. Don't lose yourself to vengeance." 

"I'm not lost," Erik snarled. "Maybe it's you who's lost -" 

And then black silence swallowed Erik again, filling his vision with darkness. 

* * *

Erik jerked upright, sand streaming off his body as he coughed. Horror and guilt swept through him at the memory of his final conversation with his father, still fresh in his head.

_Those_  were his last words to his father? " _Maybe it's you who's lost?_ "

Erik turned to T'Challa, who was also standing up, looking as horrified as Erik felt. 

"Take me back!" Erik shouted. "I wasn't done! Take me back to him!" 

"Erik, I'm sorry, I can't. It doesn't work like that." 

_"Fuck!"_  Erik swore, clenching his fists so hard that his fingernails dug into his palms. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes. "Fuck this!"

T'Challa was beside him in an instant, hugging Erik, drawing Erik close into his strong arms. Erik buried his head in T'Challa's shoulder, shaking, trying not to let the attendants see his tears. 

"Shhh," T'Challa whispered, stroking the back of Erik's head. "It's all right, Erik. I'm so sorry."

"What the fuck are you apologising for," Erik mumbled. "It was me. I fucked it all up. I shouldn't have - I shouldn't have said that to him. I can't believe...He was right. Fuck. He was right." Erik was sniffling, now, little hitching sobs into T'Challa's shoulder. He tightened his arms around T'Challa, holding him close, grounding himself. 

They stayed like this for several minutes before Erik finally composed himself, pulling away.

"Looks like Dad wasn't very helpful with the whole murder investigation," Erik said quietly, trying to joke. "Guess you're gonna have to get me a new courting gift."

"Whatever you want," T'Challa promised. "I swear it."

"I'm holding you to that," Erik muttered. "And I wanna take the antidote now." He had originally planned to fake taking it, to keep the Black Panther powers for himself - but that was before he knew that the ingestion process actually allowed the user to  _see the dead_. If he took the antidote, maybe he could persuade T'Challa to let him take the herb again. Just once more. He had to apologise to his father. Had to see him again.

T'Challa motioned Zuri forward and Zuri approached, holding a bowl of glowing purple liquid.

Wait.

_Zuri._

The herb did more than enhance Erik's strength and reflexes. It turned out that it sharpened his memory, too.

Before, Erik only had the vaguest sense that Zuri looked familiar, but now, he could perfectly recall  _exactly_  why.

"What the fuck?" Erik said. _"Uncle James?!"_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHA. YOU ALL _THOUGHT._


	8. Chapter 8

Erik's mind worked, putting the pieces into place. 

He had always assumed that Uncle James had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and that T'Chaka had killed him for seeing too much. Or, when Erik was feeling particularly optimistic, he would sometimes allow himself to dream that Uncle James was alive and just living in hiding. That he had hightailed it out of Oakland after witnessing the murder, because he didn't want to get involved in some sort of superhero death feud. 

But Uncle James was right in front of him, alive and well. And in a high-ranking government position, too.

Uncle James wouldn't have been taken to Wakanda if he had just been a random bystander. He wouldn't have been made their chief shaman. 

But if Uncle James had been in on it with T'Chaka all along, working to betray his father...   

_That_ would explain everything. 

With a roar of rage, Erik lunged forward, wrapping his hands around Zuri's throat, lifting Zuri off the ground with his herb-enhanced strength. The antidote that Zuri was holding smashed on the floor. Zuri's eyes bulged in his face as he choked, struggling to breathe. 

"Erik, stop!" T'Challa cried. "Put him down! Everyone else, get out of here! OUT!" 

The attendants rushed out of the garden. Erik ignored T'Challa, continuing to strangle Zuri with his bare hands. 

With a blur, something slammed into Erik from the side, knocking him to the ground. Erik's hold on Zuri's neck involuntarily loosened as he rolled over, the wind knocked out of him. 

It was T'Challa. He had activated the Black Panther suit and inserted himself between Erik and his father's killer, standing in front of Zuri to protect him from Erik.  

Erik scrambled to his feet, staring into the emotionless silver eyes of the Black Panther helm, and was shocked by the sheer _depth_ of the betrayal which he felt. 

"Move," he told T'Challa, intending to snarl, but all that came out was a hurt, shaky plea. 

The helm retracted, revealing T'Challa's anguished face as he looked at Erik. 

"Please, Erik," T'Challa begged. "Please, at least let him explain." 

"What's there to explain?" Erik said angrily. "He sold my father out!" 

T'Challa turned to Zuri. "Speak!" he ordered. 

Zuri protested, "I promised your father to say nothing of this - "

"I am your king now!" T'Challa roared. 

Erik had never seen T'Challa so angry before. He allowed himself a little bit of hope, then, that T'Challa just wanted answers, and wouldn't deny Erik his revenge. 

Zuri spoke. 

Explained how he had been sent to America with N'Jobu, to watch over N'Jobu in secret as N'Jobu carried out his War Dog mission. How N'Jobu, after living in Oakland, has been so affected by the oppression of his African-American brothers and sisters that he'd vowed to do whatever was necessary to liberate them from their oppressors. Explained the arms deal with Ulysses Klaue, and how N'Jobu had planned to steal Wakanda's vibranium to finance the uprising. And finally, he described how he had sent word to T'Chaka of N'Jobu's plan, how T'Chaka had shown up in Oakland to bring N'Jobu back to Wakanda for trial, and how N'Jobu had tried to shoot Zuri for his betrayal, only to be stopped by T'Chaka driving his claws into his chest. 

"And Erik?" T'Challa asked. "Why didn't you bring him back to Wakanda?" 

"He was the truth we chose to omit," Zuri admitted, bowing his head. 

Everything was clear, now. 

Erik was grateful that T'Challa had stopped him from killing Zuri earlier. Otherwise, he would never have learnt how his father had independently arrived at the same conclusions that Erik had. How his father had come up with almost the same plan. 

He really was his father's son. He was going to complete his father's mission. Make his father proud. 

Erik turned to T'Challa, filled with vicious satisfaction. "Well, cuz? Now we both know the truth. Are you gonna do it? Or should I?" 

T'Challa looked back at him, stunned, eyes wide and horrified. Erik could feel his heart sinking, feeling bone-deep betrayal seep into him. 

That was what he got for trusting T'Challa.

For letting himself believe, even for one second, that T'Chaka's son would actually _help_ him get revenge. Would have his back. 

"Erik," T'Challa whispered. "Please, no. I can't."

"He sold my father out!" Erik snarled. "You heard him! He told your dad where to find mine! T'Chaka chose _his_ life over my dad's! He's the reason my dad is dead!" 

"Erik, please. Zuri was under orders to report back to the king - your father wanted to steal our vibranium - " 

"And so he deserved to _die?!"_  Erik shouted, his voice rising to a roar. "Over your vibranium? Over your _secrets?_  So what if my dad wanted vibranium? You have an entire mountain of it! He should never have had to _steal_ it in the first place! Y'all could've given it away by the truckload and still had piles to spare! Let me ask you - what if it was Shuri, huh? What if Shuri wanted to help the world? Tried to sell those vibranium healers behind your back? You gonna cut her throat, huh? Put your claws through her heart?" 

T'Challa staggered back, horrified. 

"Stand aside, you fucking coward," Erik hissed. "I'll do it, if you don't have the guts. I'll break his worthless neck. GET OUT OF MY WAY!" 

He lunged at Zuri again, but T'Challa, clad in the Black Panther suit, moved faster, blocking Erik's lunge with his body.

They were face to face now, and Erik was close enough to see T'Challa's heartbroken expression. His brown eyes, wet with tears. 

"I've known Zuri all my life. He's like a father to me," T'Challa pleaded. "Please, Erik. Have mercy. Your father said - " 

"Don't you dare bring him up!" Erik snarled, even as his father's last words echoed in his head:  _Don't let your hatred destroy what you already have. Don't lose yourself to vengeance._

Erik shook it off. Weakness. Foolishness. Faced with his father's murderer, how could he just walk away? 

He swung a fist at T'Challa, but T'Challa caught his forearm without difficulty. The next few blows were all easily parried. 

Erik couldn't beat T'Challa in a straight fight, even with his newly enhanced strength. Not when T'Challa was wearing the Black Panther suit. 

He had to win this another way. 

"You promised me," he said to T'Challa, accusingly. "You swore to give me anything I wanted. You said, ' _Your enemy is my enemy. Your vengeance is my vengeance. **I swear it, on the throne**_.' Or have you forgotten already?" 

A look of horrified realisation spread across T'Challa's face. 

"Is this how you keep your oaths? The king of Wakanda?" Erik sneered. "Good thing I'm here to refresh your memory. How else did you think this was gonna go? You thought you'd just have to kill some nameless pilot? Maybe a couple of bodyguards? Did you really think that your father would entrust this secret to anyone less than his closest advisor? You should have _known!"_

"Now stand aside," Erik said in a quiet, terrible voice. "Or I'll kill you too. Don't test me. Don't think I won't do it. Y'all owe me." 

T'Challa swallowed. "Erik. You're right. I did swear, on the throne. And I cannot keep my oath." Tears trickled down his face. "Erik, I will abdicate." 

Erik froze. 

Behind T'Challa, Zuri inhaled sharply. "My King, you cannot do this for me." 

T'Challa silenced Zuri with a gesture. 

"Erik, please. I cannot stand by and watch you kill Zuri, not if I have any other choice. You can have the throne. Only promise me that you will show mercy. Please, Erik, I beg you, if you have any love left for me."

T'Challa sank to his knees, slowly, before Erik. 

Erik's heart clenched. 

The throne. His life's mission. 

His father's murderer. 

His love, T'Challa, kneeling before him, heartbroken and tearful. Giving up everything. 

"Fine," Erik snapped. "I'll exile Zuri. Happy?" 

T'Challa exhaled in relief, reaching out for Erik's hand. Erik slapped it away. 

"And whatever we got between us? It's over," Erik snarled, ignoring T'Challa's gasp of pain. "I hope you're fucking happy with your choices." 

Erik left. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> N'Jobu: Son, don't lose yourself to vengeance.  
> Erik: Yeah, you right.  
> Erik: ...  
> Erik: You know what, FUCKING WATCH ME.


	9. Chapter 9

On the morning of his coronation, Okoye, Erik's new bodyguard, informed Erik that he had a visitor. 

"I don't want to see T'Challa," Erik snapped to Okoye. "In fact, you know what? I don't want to speak to him ever again. Just tell him to fuck off." 

Okoye gave him a funny look. "It's W'Kabi, not T'Challa," she said. "He says it's very important." 

"Oh, what the hell," Erik sighed. "Show him in." 

* * *

"My King," W'Kabi greeted as he entered the throne room. 

W'Kabi looked exhausted. His eye bags were prominent and he was clearly trying to stifle a yawn. 

"W'Kabi," Erik said, perversely glad to see someone else who was suffering. "You look like shit."

W'Kabi ignored Erik's insult. "Well played, your Highness," he said. "When you said that you had leverage over T'Challa, I certainly was not expecting this."

"You shouldn't underestimate me," Erik said coolly. "Now what do you want?" 

"I thought you said that you weren't going to hurt T'Challa," W'Kabi said, almost accusingly. 

"And I didn't," Erik snapped. "I haven't harmed a hair on his head, even though he fucking deserves it. This is a completely bloodless coup. And you better watch your tone, I'm ya king now."

"T'Challa is really hurt," W'Kabi continued. "Emotionally, I mean. He's very upset." 

"Good," Erik said savagely. "He should be."

"He was in tears all night when he stayed over at my place," W'Kabi said relentlessly. "Okoye and I didn't get a wink of sleep." 

Erik couldn't hold back a wince. "Good," he repeated, but it was halfhearted this time. _"He_  was the one who stabbed _me_ in the back, you know. And I thought you were on my side?" Erik said accusingly. "Why are you defending T'Challa?" 

"I _am_ on your side," W'Kabi said. "Politically. Wakanda's extreme isolationist policy does more harm than good. But T'Challa is my - " 

"Best friend, I know. It's the third time that you've told me this already."

W'Kabi sighed. "Regardless of whatever happened between Zuri and your father - " 

_"Whatever happened?"_ Erik said angrily. "Did T'Challa forget to explain exactly how Zuri betrayed my father and  _got him killed?_ _"_

"I don't know the exact details," W'Kabi admitted. "T'Challa refused to tell me anything. But you exiled Zuri and ascended the throne right after you met your ancestors. I am capable of drawing my own inferences."

"I'm sure you didn't infer how T'Challa made me choose between _killing my father's murderer_ or _saving the world,"_ Erik hissed. "I'm never gonna forgive him for that. Ever."

W'Kabi looked at Erik curiously. "What exactly happened?"

Erik told him. 

W'Kabi was silent for a long time. "I see," he finally said. "You do know that this means your father was responsible for the deaths of _my_ parents?" 

Erik stiffened. "What?" 

"Your father engaged Klaue to steal the vibranium on his behalf. Klaue attacked Wakanda, killing many people of the Border Tribe. Including my parents."

_Shit._  Erik's mind hadn't drawn that particular connection. He tensed, automatically, in preparation for a fight. 

"Relax," W'Kabi said. "Ulysses Klaue, the person directly responsible, is already dead. It would be foolish to seek vengeance on people who were only marginally connected to Klaue. It would be even more ridiculous to seek to punish the _child_ of the persons involved. Such vengeance is futile," W'Kabi said pointedly. "It has to end somewhere."

"...I know what you're trying to say," Erik muttered. "But T'Challa and I - what happened with Zuri - it's different." 

"How so?" 

_"T'Challa_ betrayed _me_ first," Erik said defensively. "He stopped me from killing Zuri. If T'Challa stopped you from killing Klaue, you'd never forgive him either." 

"But he did not," W'Kabi said. "So it is pointless to speculate. And it was not Zuri who killed your father. It was T'Chaka. Zuri was not directly responsible." 

"I don't care," Erik said fiercely. "It's Zuri's fault that my father is dead. If he hadn't told T'Chaka anything - if T'Chaka hadn't picked him over my father - my father would still be alive. So Zuri is directly responsible, sort of." 

_"Sort of_ directlyresponsible?" W'Kabi said sarcastically. 

Erik glared at him. _"Directly_ responsible," he amended, stubbornly. "I'll never forgive T'Challa for this. I hate him. I hope he's fucking devastated. I hope he's never happy again for the rest of his life."

W'Kabi didn't say anything. He just raised an eyebrow at Erik. 

Erik sighed. "T'Challa really cried all night?" Erik muttered. 

W'Kabi nodded. 

Erik gritted his teeth. "He's just upset about being dumped. He's only known me for less than a week, he'll get over me in a few days at most. I'm sure this isn't the first time the princess had a bad breakup."

"No one else has ever dumped T'Challa before," W'Kabi informed Erik.

"Are you serious? My fucking god. That fucking spoiled brat - "

"You know," W'Kabi said patiently, "When I have difficulties with my wife, I find that it is helpful to step back and look at things from her point of view. And I try not to say any hasty things that I may regret later." 

"I don't want your relationship advice," Erik snapped. "Just stick to politics."

"Very well, my King," W'Kabi said coldly, drawing his shoulders back. "As you wish."

"...Sorry. I take that back." Erik muttered. He reminded himself that he couldn't afford to lose a friend and ally this early into his reign. "And I thought I told you to call me Erik."

W'Kabi sighed, rolling his eyes. "If only you were like this when it comes to T'Challa. Just take a step back, yes? Try and talk to him again."

"I'll take that under advisement," Erik said. "If he begs very prettily for my forgiveness, I might consider it."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  TIME TO GET ON YOUR KNEES, T'CHALLA.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not replying to most of your comments on the previous chapter! I was working on the final chapter (which actually went through 2 rewrites - I had to delete almost 1k words, sigh). Please know that I really appreciate every single one of you who took the time to comment! <3
> 
> Hope yall like this!

The coronation at noon went extremely smoothly. Except, of course, for the way that T'Challa looked at Erik throughout with red-rimmed eyes, almost as if he were on the verge of tears.

Erik gritted his teeth and tried not to feel guilty. It was T'Challa's own fault that he was in this situation. He had brought it upon himself.

Victory wasn't supposed to taste so bitter, damn it.

"Now that I'm the King," Erik said, smirking as he sprawled out on the throne, "I have an announcement to make. Y'all been sitting up here all comfortable. Must feel good. There's about two billion people around the world who look like us and their lives are a lot harder. Wakanda has the tools to liberate them all."

Everyone else in the throne room exchanged looks.

"What sort of tools?" T'Challa asked.

"Vibranium. Your weapons," Erik said. "We're gonna send out our weapons to oppressed people everywhere. They're gonna have the means to fight back for once."

T'Challa was horrified. "Our weapons should not be used to wage war on the world! It's not our way to be judge, jury and executioner for people who aren't our own!"

"Not your own? Didn't life start right here in this continent? Ain't all people your people?" Erik shot back as he got to his feet.

T'Challa glared at him. "You've let vengeance consume you. I should never have yielded the throne."

Erik snapped. "Okay, y'know what? Everyone else, get out of the room. T'Challa, you stay behind. Out!"

The throne room cleared. W'Kabi gave Erik a meaningful look as he exited.

Now alone, Erik and T'Challa glared into each other's eyes. T'Challa, damn him, even had the nerve to storm right up to Erik, getting all up in his space.

"You're going to destroy the world," T'Challa said intently. "Wakanda included. Don't do this."

"The world took everything away from me," Erik snarled. "Everything I ever loved. I'mma make sure we're even. I'm gonna burn it all! And Wakanda is gonna rule over the ashes!"

"You're crazy," T'Challa said angrily. "Blinded by vengeance. I can't believe I let our vibranium fall into the hands of someone like you."

"And _I_ can't believe that W'Kabi almost talked me into taking you back," Erik snapped. "Y'know what, I think I'm just gonna execute you instead."

T'Challa's eyes widened. "W'Kabi did what?"

"It doesn't matter. Clearly he was wrong," Erik said nastily.

T'Challa swallowed. "Erik," he said softly, some of his anger melting away.

"You really should have tried this earlier," Erik said. "I don't give a fuck about you now. And it's 'Your Highness', not Erik. "

T'Challa ignored Erik's words, reaching out to stroke his hand. "Erik," he said, gentle and appealing. "Don't do this. Don't destroy everything just because you're angry with me."

"Oh, do you really think that everything revolves around _you?"_ Erik retorted, slapping T'Challa's hand away. "That's cute. You think I'm doing all this just to piss you off? Just so you know, I was already planning this from the start. It's got nothing to do with you. Yeah, you know that? It's why I came to Wakanda in the first place. I came here for your throne. To get your weapons for our people. To rule the world!"

"Then why didn't you just kill me in the Trials?" T'Challa said quietly.

Erik flinched. "Shut up."

"Erik," T'Challa said gently. "Listen to me. Your plan is terrible. Injustice isn't the result of a lack of firepower. How will giving out weapons help anyone? Weapons that they won't even know how to use? And how can you stop these weapons from falling into the wrong hands? Hydra? SHIELD? The CIA? This is never going to work. Don't make me stop you."

"Stop me?" Erik sneered, even as his mind scrambled for a rebuttal, and was stunned to find that he had _nothing to say_. "And how are you gonna do that? You gonna kill me? Put your panther claws through my heart, just like your old man?"

T'Challa shuddered. "No."

Erik glowered at him. "Then take off the kitty suit. Give me that necklace."

"I yielded the throne, not the mantle of Black Panther," T'Challa said. "The suit is still mine by rights."

"You think I can't take it if I want?" Erik sneered. "Did you forget how I kicked your ass? And I wasn't even trying to kill you then."

"You would kill me for the suit?" T'Challa said evenly. "Go ahead."

Erik gripped T'Challa's panther necklace, twisting his hands in it and dragging T'Challa close to him. "Don't think I won't do it."

T'Challa said nothing, just looked up at Erik with sad, disappointed brown eyes.

"Don't look at me like that," Erik muttered.

"Erik," T'Challa said, soft and pleading.

"And don't say my name like that either," Erik muttered, even more quietly.

"You can't kill me either, can you?" T'Challa said. "You couldn't do it, even from the beginning. I know."

"I _really_ fucking hate you," Erik ground out through gritted teeth, and closed his mouth over T'Challa's.

This kiss was nothing like their previous kisses. It was fierce and demanding, and this time there was no give from T'Challa at all, who kissed Erik back just as angrily as reached his hands up to tear at the front of Erik's clothes.

Erik stripped T'Challa out of his ceremonial robe, slipping it off his shoulders. He bit down at the skin where T'Challa's neck met his shoulder, right over the panther necklace, eliciting a small gasp of pain. Erik licked the same spot he had just bitten, soothing away the sting as T'Challa moaned.

With his arms wrapped around T'Challa, Erik slammed T'Challa backwards against the nearest hard surface, which happened to be the throne. T'Challa's knees buckled and he sat down hard, and Erik climbed into his lap, knees straddling both sides of T'Challa's thighs.

"You ever fucked on the throne when you were the king?" Erik asked, smirking as he cupped T'Challa's face between his hands.

"No," T'Challa said firmly, in between kisses. "I was _chaste_. As you should be!"

"Great, we can be the first to christen the throne." Erik said slyly. "And are you really gonna tell on me now?"

"You're a really terrible king," T'Challa said, gasping and arching as Erik tweaked his nipples. "The absolute worst - _mmphh_." T'Challa's complaint was cut off as Erik kissed him mid-sentence to shut him up. Erik ground down into T'Challa's lap, feeling T'Challa's cock stiffen against his ass.

"How do you wanna do this, kitten?" Erik murmured. "Want me to suck you off?"

"You'd do that?" T'Challa said.

"I want to taste you," Erik said huskily. "You're gonna beg me to make you cum."

"Oh Bast," T'Challa gasped as Erik went down on his knees before T'Challa.

Resting his hands on T'Challa's thighs, Erik spread T'Challa's legs wide apart, slotting himself in between. He raised his head to look up at T'Challa - a long, heated gaze - and saw that T'Challa was leaning back against the throne, eyes closed and head thrown back. T'Challa pressed a fist over his mouth to stifle his gasps, while the other hand clenched down hard on the arm of the throne, a tight-knuckled grip. He was beautiful, so beautiful that it made Erik's heart ache.

Without taking his eyes off T'Challa, Erik gripped the base of T'Challa's cock with one hand as he licked a long, slow stripe up its length. T'Challa’s eyes flew open.

"That's right," Erik murmured. "Look at me, baby."

Erik continued to give small kitten licks to T'Challa's cock, light and teasing, paying particular attention to the sensitive tip.

"Stop teasing me," T'Challa gasped, squirming. He tangled his hands in the hair at the back of Erik's head, tightening his fingers. T'Challa tugged Erik's head lightly forward onto his cock, and Erik was forced to take T'Challa deeper between his parted lips.

"Feeling feisty, huh?" Erik mumbled around a mouthful of T'Challa's cock. Erik got to work, sucking hard, swirling his tongue around the shaft. T'Challa was big enough that Erik could only fit about half of the length of T'Challa's hot, thick cock comfortably into his mouth, but T'Challa didn't seem to mind, judging by his breathless moans.

Erik reached a hand down to his own cock, playing with himself while he used his other hand to stroke T'Challa's balls, lightly rubbing them with his fingers. T'Challa thrust up into Erik's mouth with shallow little rolls of his hips, his moans becoming increasingly more desperate as his arousal grew.

"Erik," T'Challa whimpered, his fingers clenching almost painfully hard in Erik's hair as he tried to pull Erik off his cock, "Stop - I'm going to - "

Ignoring T'Challa's warning tug on his hair, Erik leaned forward instead, deliberately swallowing down as much of T'Challa as he could and sucking hard.

The extra stimulation was too much. With a shudder and a muffled cry, T'Challa came in Erik's mouth, spilling hot and wet down Erik's throat. Erik continued to suck, milking T'Challa dry, and only pulled off after he had swallowed every single drop.

T'Challa leaned back on the throne, flushed and sated, as Erik sat back on his heels, wiping his mouth clean with the back of his hand.

"Don't think that this is gonna change anything," Erik warned T'Challa as he rested his cheek against T'Challa's thigh, looking up at T'Challa through hooded eyes.

T'Challa ran his fingers through Erik's dreadlocks affectionately. "Yes, my love," he said.

"You're humoring me," Erik said accusingly. "I know what you're up to. It's exactly what I was doing, you know."

"Which is?"

"You're trying to seduce the king so that you can make him do whatever you want."

T'Challa laughed. "Of course not. I'm sure that you still intend to go through with your ridiculous, unworkable plan," T'Challa said, stroking Erik's hair. "You're still going to destroy the world and break my heart."

"....Alright, fine," Erik muttered. "I ain't making any promises, mind you. My goals haven't changed. My old plan is just...on hold, until I think of a better one."

"I'll help you," T'Challa said earnestly. "As long as your goals don't involve ' _destroying the world'_ and ' _ruling over the ashes'._ If you want to help others, I'll work with you."

"I don't need your help," Erik said indignantly. "I can do it all on my own."

 _"Erik,"_ T'Challa said, and there was no trace of anger in his voice at all, nothing but fond exasperation as he caressed Erik's cheek.

"Oh, what the hell," Erik said, relaxing as he closed his eyes. "We can work something out."

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos appreciated!


End file.
